TCOT Caustic Caller
by Walnut23
Summary: If only Perry Mason could figure out what Della is hiding from him, he might be able to solve the case.
1. Chapter 1

Della Street shrieked awake. She grabbed her heart, catching her breath and staring in the darkness. She had heard the noise, a loud, lonely click somewhere in the darkness that stretched down the hall to the living room. Swinging her legs off the side of the bed, Della thought about inspecting. Fear stopped her. There was no way out except through the front door. And if the noise was a person, he was somewhere directly in line between where she sat and her escape.

She groped around the end of the bed, feeling her housecoat and wrapping it around her. I'm being silly, she told herself. Her ears, perked like a beagle's, had heard nothing else. She could feel someone, though, feel him advancing to the back of the apartment and toward her. His silent steps pressed the wooden floor that connected the front of the flat to her bedroom.

Perry had asked if she was frightened when he dropped her off. They knew that the killer knew they were on his trail. But Della had laughed, the way women do in the daylight, forgetting that soon it would be night. And now she sat on the edge of her bed, draped in the darkness of the early morning, dazed from sleep and jolted from panic. Her home was not hers now, but a strange, terrible place belonging to an intruder who existed, perhaps, only in her tired imagination.

Della waited for several seconds, expecting a dark man to leap from the shadows and attack her. When he didn't, she smiled to herself. This was not the Della Street she knew herself to be. Would she tell Perry tomorrow? Spooked by a passing car outside, maybe, or just the scratch of a limb against the shingles. The stuff nightmares are made of. She remembered a shadow that appeared on her bedroom wall when she was a child. Awaking one night, she saw the profile of a witch hovering over her and ran, screaming, into her parents' room. The next day her father trimmed the tree outside her bedroom and the witch disappeared. Della returned to her bed, but the terror of that instant, of waking to horror, stayed with her even thirty years later.

She thought of that witch as she slid her feet into house slippers. Silence. She stepped out into the hall, one foot, then the other. A floor panel creaked and she screamed. Paralysed against the wall, she pressed her eyes shut, gasping, knowing it was only her, but unable to look anyway. Stupid, she told herself, if there were someone in here and he had been after me, he couldn't have made it a yard down the hallway without a noise.

Della's heart pounded into her fingertips. There was no use trying to sleep for a while. She'd make a cup of tea and finish the novel she'd fallen asleep reading. Perry would laugh if he could see her. She had almost asked him to stay tonight, but something, the same thing every time, really, had kept her from telling him what she wanted. Maybe tomorrow, she thought, as I'm describing what a ridiculous night I had, I'll mention that I would have felt safer if he had been here. She sighed. Of course she wouldn't tell him that. He's a man, for Heaven's sake, not a German Shepherd. A man may want to protect a girl from the world, but she knew that being a teddy bear to turn to after a nightmare was not his idea of how to spend an evening in her bed.

Della switched on the dim light over the stove and filled the tea kettle with water. She did wish he were here. Not simply because she still shook from a fading fear, but because she knew she loved him. Sometimes she awoke in the night, with many things to say or perhaps nothing at all, but just wanted to reach over to him and put her hand on his chest. To feel him pull her into his arms, where she could settle and fall asleep. He'd once told her that celebrities can't be cowards. She scoffed at him. Della Street a celebrity? Maybe a line or two in the gossip columns occasionally. She didn't mind and even liked scanning the morning rag to see if they'd made it. But now, in the middle of her dark apartment, her feet cold against the linoleum on the kitchen floor, she remembered a line from a musical Perry had taken her to last summer. Bravery is cold in bed.

Della hummed the tune, waiting for the whistle of the kettle. She picked up a magazine she'd half read and then tossed on the table. And then she heard a squeak. Her mouth dried. Someone had just stepped into the hallway behind her. He couldn't have been in the hall while I was there, she realized, but he could have been standing in the study, which was adjacent to the bedroom.

The kettle spouted a short whistle. I could scald him, she told herself, I'll throw the water in his face. She clutched the handle. That would never do. Unless she was tall enough to pour out on his head, there was no way she could throw near boiling water from a kettle on anyone but herself. Tears crept up her throat and she steadied herself against the countertop. She spotted the block of knives by the stove. I'll stab him, she thought, reaching for the largest knife. Knowing it was a long shot, she raised it from the wooden slot. She'd been in court dozens of times when Perry proved that a woman didn't have the strength to drive a blade into a man's chest. But maybe adrenaline would be on her side.

Pressing the handle into her palm Della turned to face her intruder. She jolted at the emptiness of the living room in front of her. She let go the knife and backed away from it, watching to fall into the sink, uneasy at her plot to kill someone merely seconds before. Turning off the stove, she picked up the kettle and poured water into a cup. That's twice in a night, she told herself, that you behaved like a teenager who's seen too many scary films. A nagging thought pierced the logic of her mind. Of course no one was there. Murderers do not wait until their victim arms herself before pouncing. She slid the knife back into the wooden block, chuckling. Wouldn't Perry have been proud? Her mind read the headline. "Secretary Thwarts Plans of Homicidal Maniac."

She didn't want tea anymore. Sleep was completely out of question, and even though she knew that no one was there, the ache of fear hung on her chest. Della's eyes darted to the kitchen clock. Twelve-twelve. Make a wish. The doorbell would ring, and Perry would be on the other side.

She walked into the living room and picked up the phone. There was no need to even turn on a light, she smiled, dialing his number in the dark. Maybe he would be asleep, but probably not. Even if he is, she said to herself, we'll call it even for all the midnight calls I've had from him. The phone rang four times. A tiny, stabbing thought told her he wasn't home. The fear arose in her again. What if someone had been here, she wondered, and I couldn't reach Perry? She was about to hang up when he answered, mumbling hello.

"It's me," she said. "I'm sorry to bother you so late."

"Della?" he asked.

But she didn't say anything. Her mind struggled to wind itself around what her ears told it. A squeak of a floor panel, the brushing of cloth against the wall. Then from the darkness behind her, a hand crept onto her shoulder. A half asleep Perry Mason heard Della Street scream, then the line went dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Perry Mason yelled her name into the phone until the dull buzz confirmed that the line was dead. He jumped from his bed, searching for a pair of pants. 'Wait,' he told himself, as he ran to the living room to find his keys. 'I don't even know where she is.' Terrible scenes flashed through his mind, blurring each other into morbid helplessness. He couldn't stay, but wasn't sure where to go. If he left and the phone rang again, he may never find her. But if he stalled it may be too late.

He picked up the phone, but panic confused her phone number in his mind for a few seconds. He dialed. A busy signal pulsed in his ear.

He dropped the receiver and ran. He didn't lock the door behind him.

The cool night shocked the skin under his thin t-shirt, but he didn't care. Della's scream, then the dull snap of the line as it disconnected skipped through his mind.

Lighting a cigarette, he pushed on the gas pedal and the car sped toward her building. I should have called the police, he thought. But that would have been wasted time. He'd already lost a few minutes, and if someone had Della somewhere, it wouldn't be difficult to break into her apartment and take the phone off the hook. He had to get to her before…a lump filled his throat and he refused to continue the thought.

Tears blurred his eyes as he ran the red light, glancing through the empty intersection. When he had dropped her off at her building, just a few hours before, his stomach turned as he watched her fit the key in the front door and disappear behind it. Perry tore his hand through his hair. It was true that he always hated seeing her go, knowing that he'd rather follow than return to his own place. But tonight was different. He couldn't tell her that he had an odd feeling that nudged his gut; she'd think he'd gone soft. He cursed himself for having swallowed the nerves that plagued him as he drove away from her.

Tendrils of fear pricked the roots of his hair. Ugly little thoughts and imaginings of what was happening to Della at precisely the same moment he passed through the boulevard, right by the diner that served the pancakes with butter and maple syrup just like she loved, then past the dress shop where she had bought her favorite hat. Perry didn't know if he was speeding toward her or away from her. What had she said when he picked up the phone? He couldn't remember. Her voice had been quiet, maybe nervous, but the scream came decidedly after she had said something else first.

Logic told him that she had most likely called from home. He turned onto the stretch of road, realizing he had at least fifteen more minutes ahead of him, at best, before he'd approach her neighborhood. He slammed his palm onto the steering wheel. Why had he left her this evening? Why hadn't he ever considered that something like this could happen? Why hadn't he protected her?

He sped on and on, blocks disappearing in streaks of neon light. First Street, Second Street, Grand Avenue. Time existed in seconds and hours all at once as Perry cursed and pushed the car faster.

Her block was empty as Perry's car stopped in front of the building. He darted to the front door, noticing that he was parked next to a fire plug, but he didn't care. He pressed the buzzer and pounded his fist on the door. His mind saw her on the floor of the living room, clutching the phone. He kicked the door and yelled into the intercom that reached the night guard.

"Hurry," he shouted. A wrinkled man in a tidy uniform opened the door a crack. Perry pushed him out of the way and sprinted for the steps to the second floor.

"Della," he screamed as he reached her apartment, twisting on the locked knob. He threw his weight against the door to no avail. He reared back, desperation twisting his face, determined to tear it off the hinges if he needed to.

It swung open before he could move further. Della collapsed into his arms.

"Perry," she heaved, and her knees buckled. He caught her and carried her to the couch. She clutched his arms, burying her face into his chest, listening to his heart roar beneath her ear. He gasped for breath, half crying, murmuring her name into her hair.

"What happened?" he whispered. After a few moments her eyes, red and dazed, raised to his.

"I had a bad dream," she said. He knew she was lying.


	3. Chapter 3

When Lieutenant Tragg opened Perry's office door the next morning, he didn't notice Della sleeping on the couch. Her pen had drawn down her arm as she slept, with the notebook fallen open on her lap.

"Quiet," Mason whispered before Tragg could begin. "Can't you see she's sleeping?"

Tragg regarded Della then looked at his watch. Ten-thirty. "I apologize Mason. I had it in my head that this office was a bunch of afternoon nappers."

"Funny, Lieutenant," Perry said without looking up at Tragg.

The officer turned his hat in his hands, pinching the brim as he stared down at it. He and Mason had been on opposite sides of the courtroom before, but they had a mutual respect that bordered on friendship. He liked Mason, envied his intelligence and his life – particularly the part that involved Della Street – but admired him all the same. So it was difficult to find the words to give Mason bad news.

Perry felt Tragg looking at him. He raised his head and cocked it to the side. "Did you want something?"

"Mason, I'd like to speak with you in private."

"We are in private."

"I mean just the two of us," Tragg said, nodding toward Della.

Mason laughed. "She's had a rough night and finally fell asleep an hour ago. But even if she did wake up, you know Della and I have no secrets."

Tragg glanced at her over his shoulder. "That's precisely what I'd like to talk to you about."

Perry Mason furrowed his brow and stood up. This wasn't like Tragg. He may like playing coy when he thought he held a trump card, but now his demeanour was that of a father whose daughter was out fifteen minutes past curfew. Perry half smiled, but his amusement faded as he followed Tragg into the law library. The officer began to close the door behind them, but Mason stopped him.

"Leave it open a bit," he said. "I don't want Della to think she's alone if she wakes up."

Tragg glanced sideways at him, and Perry's uneasy feeling grew. He didn't like feeling left out of the loop. When he'd found Della last night, she'd held onto him, crying and shaking. She wouldn't let him go home, but refused to tell him anything about the dream that had scared her so badly. "I had a bad dream," she said each time he tried to talk to her. She wouldn't say more than that, and cried harder. He'd stayed with her and in the morning could tell she hadn't slept. He hadn't either, to tell the truth, because she clung to him as though afraid he would escape. Della made him stay with her until she had dressed, insisting that she was fine to go to work, and then rode with him back to his apartment so he could shower and grab a change of clothes. Perry had laughed as he stepped under the water. For a few seconds he thought Della was going to ask if she could come into the bathroom with him. Poor girl looked frightened to see the door close behind him. Perry knew she wasn't giving him the whole story about the dream, but thought that after a long nap and some lunch she'd be ready to talk.

Now, as he saw Tragg, stumbling to start the conversation, he knew that there was more to the story than Della had let on. But why?

Perry glanced back at Della then picked a cigarette from the box on the table. "You wanted to tell me something, Tragg?"

"Do you know where Della was last night?" The officer asked.

Mason blew out a stream of smoke. "She was at home."

"Now Mason, I'm not going to pull any punches. I know you were at her apartment until around seven this morning. It's none of my business what you do on your own time, but can you vouch for her from 9:30 on?"

Perry stood up and stared at the books. "Are you telling me that Della's suspected of committing a crime?"

"Oh, no, Perry. I didn't say that."

"Then what exactly are you saying, Tragg?"

The older man squared his shoulders. "I'm asking you if you can tell me where Della Street was from 10 p.m. until midnight. I've tried to be nice, Mason, but you're not cooperating."

"Now what would have made you have expect that?" Perry smiled.

"This is no joke, Mason," Tragg said. "Last night a woman was murdered in Della's building. A neighbor called the police to report a girl screaming in the apartment next to him. When the boys arrived a guy in the lobby told them to head up to the third floor. Sure enough, we found a body. Turned out to be Elise Haynes. You know who she is?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Perry said. She was the star witness for the prosecution in Mason's latest case. Randall Godfrey, his client, had been accused of embezzling funds from Goldmeier Bank and Trust. Elise Haynes was Roger Goldmeier's private secretary, among other things, according to the rumor mill. Two weeks ago a seedy photographer had snapped a photo of Mason and Haynes at a popular nightclub. Perry was looking for information, and as the picture revealed, Haynes was interested in something of a different sort. He'd received a cool response from Della the next morning when the morning paper ran the photograph in a gossip column. But she hadn't said anything to him about it, and he found it easier to pretend it didn't exist rather than try to explain himself.

Tragg half-sat on the table. "The odd thing about it is that the man who made the call lived on the second floor. He told the dispatcher that he heard a woman scream next door. I spoke with him myself and his story stayed the same."

"And?" Mason said.

"The woman next door is Della," Tragg said.

The lawyer settled back into his chair. "What does that prove?"

"Not much," Tragg said, "Except that about two hours ago we took a look around Della's apartment." He flashed the warrant in Perry's face. "And you'll never guess what we found."

Mason's eyes widened as Tragg pulled a revolver from his pocket. "Ballistics is finishing up the report right now. We're pretty sure that this is the murder weapon."

"Well, Tragg, are you here to take Della to the station?"

"Of course not, Mason. We're not stupid. The boys found evidence that someone forced open Della's study window. I know she's not guilty, but I got a hunch she knows something."

Mason rubbed his chin and sighed. "And what makes you think that, Tragg? It sounds like a clear case of planted evidence."

"The coroner estimates that Elise Haynes died between 11 and 12:30. Della called you a little after midnight, and according to the doorman you came running into that building half dressed like a bull in a china closet. Now, just what was it about that telephone call that made you charge into that building?"

Perry stood, forcing a smile. "You're a man, Tragg. I wouldn't think I'd have to explain such things to you." He slapped him on the back and pushed him to the exit that opened into Gertie's office. "You run along and bother someone else's secretary, Lieutenant."

"As usual, Mason, I try to give you a heads up and get a kick in the teeth for my trouble," Tragg said. "We'll be back later today. She'd better be up by then."

He scowled good-bye to Gertie before slamming the outer office door behind him. Perry waited a few seconds then leaned over the receptionist's desk. "I want you to get Paul Drake down here," he whispered. "Tell him to come in the front door and wait in the law library."

Mason turned and strode back to his office. Della had curled down into the cushions, her face troubled even in sleep. Creeping up next to her, Perry watched her breathe. "I don't know what you've gotten into," he muttered. "But we'll get you out of it."

His eye caught Paul waving from the library. Mason put his finger to his lips and gestured for him to wait. The detective looked at Della, made a puzzled expression, then went back into the room.

Perry knelt next to Della and ran his fingers over her hair, making sure not to wake her. He kissed her cheek and stood up. "Forgive me, sweetheart," he whispered. "But I thought you knew better than to lie to your lawyer."

He went to the library and closed the door behind him. "Who's the best fellow you got, Paul?"

"Parker," Drake answered. "He's the one doing the work on the Godfrey case for us, and just did the beautiful job getting the last piece that wrapped up the Hanson acquittal a few weeks ago."

"I want you to put him on Della," Mason said. Paul tried to interrupt but Perry continued. "Find out what she's been doing for the last few weeks. If she's seen anyone, made any out-of-the-ordinary calls." He reached into his pocket and produced a key. He held it in his palm for a few seconds, then handed it to Drake. "It's hers. Have Parker go over there and look around the apartment. Tell him to look but don't touch. I want to know if she's received any letters, messages, you know the deal."

"What the devil is going on, Mason? Is Della in some kind of trouble?"

"Don't hand me any questions," the lawyer said. "I'm hiring you for a case."

Drake eyed the key before accepting it. "You know what you're asking for, Perry? I know it's Della, but this edges on the wrong side of the law."

"I'm her lawyer," Mason said, meeting the detective's eyes. "Just do as I say and make sure she doesn't find out. Go and call Parker then come back. I'm going out for a bit and I want you stay here with Della. Make sure she's not by herself when she wakes up, and don't leave her alone for a second. I don't want her any more frightened than she already is."


	4. Chapter 4

As Mason opened the door that led into the lobby of the building, he thought about the events of the night before. He tried to remember exactly who had been here, but knew that he couldn't trust himself. He had been clouded with panic about how he would find Della, and didn't pay attention to anything as he sprinted through the main area and up the stairs.

Tragg's account of the crime had bothered him, and his sympathy for Della turned into irritation. He knew Della well enough, however, not to doubt her. If she was holding out on him, there was certainly a reason. She wasn't a woman who succumbed to fear; and he often marvelled that she trusted him far beyond what he deserved. Perry smiled to himself. Della Street may be the loveliest girl he'd ever known, but she was also the toughest person he knew. When Della made her mind up about something, even Perry Mason didn't have a prayer of cracking her.

Before he told her anything about Tragg's visit, he wanted to recount for himself what went on in that building last night. Perry strained to visualize the lobby. There was of course the old doorman, but he couldn't recall any other person. The man he wanted to remember, who would tie Della's scream to the murder upstairs, eluded him. Who had told the police to go to the third floor?

He rang the bell on the desk. A young redhead turned around to face him. Her bored expression jumped with interest as she eyed the lawyer. "May I help you?" she purred.

"I'm here to see the night guard. Is he around?"

The girl giggled. "It's 11:15 in the morning, sir. Old Walt doesn't start until 7." She leaned over the desk. "But if you'd like to come back later I'd be happy to give you a tour."

"Where can I find Old Walt?" Mason asked, placing his elbow on the desk and lighting a cigarette. He snapped his eyes to meet hers. She blushed. He'd promised himself, after the Elise Haynes photo, never again to flirt to get information. It was one of the things he regretted while speeding to Della's house the night before. But desperate times call for desperate measures, he chided himself, and when the desperate measure was Della Street, he'd do whatever necessary.

The girl slid the ashtray over to him. "Are you his son or something?"

"Actually I'm his nephew," Perry said. "I just got in from Chicago and was hoping to find him. My mother gave me his home address, but I must have misplaced it while I was packing for the trip. I did remember her saying something about him working at the Jameson Apartment Plaza in Los Angeles, and so I thought maybe I'd find a pretty lady who could get me his address. And so I did."

"Hold on a minute," she said, and disappeared into the office tittering. One of Della's best qualities, Perry mused, was that she never reduced herself to a giggle.

Perry watched the girl go and then turned to survey the lobby once more. His eyes scanned the door to the stairs to the small reception area with a few chairs and a piano. A man stepped from the phone booth and Perry recognized him at once. Parker was a hell of a detective if he'd already surveyed the apartment and was calling in with the report. He thought about stopping him, but the detective was already at the door and Perry would have to shout to catch him. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. Della would kill him if she knew he was here now, and it would be just his luck that he'd run into Mrs. Dowling, the old biddy who lived across the hall from Della.

The redheaded receptionist appeared again with a worn time sheet. "Got it," she said.

"I sure hope I don't wake Uncle Walt. He's probably sleeping now if he works the night shift."

The girl choked on a sudden laugh. "No danger of that," she said, transcribing the address. "From what the residents tell me, he gets a good night's sleep on the job."

Mason chuckled as she handed him a slip of paper with the guard's address written on it. He folded it, noticing a number pencilled on the back. "That," she whispered, "is how you can get a hold of me when you're done visiting Old Walt."

"You didn't happen to be around last night, were you? I read in this morning's paper that there was a murder here."

"Unfortunately I wasn't," she said. "I miss all the excitement. My shift ends at 4, and nothing good ever happens during the day."

Perry winked at her. "I appreciate your time, ma'am." He headed for the exit, and stepped out into the warm day. He saw Parker crossing the street at the next block, then glanced at his watch. If Della woke up, and he wasn't there, she might panic. He also wanted to hear that report before he confronted her. Then again, he needed to find that doorman. He unlocked his car, still debating with himself, when he heard sirens growing closer. Perry pulled his car into the garage and watched two officers, accompanied by Tragg, enter the building. Old Walt can wait, Perry said to himself as he turned out onto the street. The one I need some answers from now is Miss Street.


	5. Chapter 5

Della Street flung her arms around Mason before he could enter his office. "Della, Della," he comforted her, holding her close to him.

Paul Drake snuffed out his cigarette in an ashtray on Perry's desk. "Boy am I glad to see you," he said. "She nearly strangled me when I told her you had stepped out for a minute."

Perry released Della. "Why didn't you wake me?" Her eyes flashed. "I would have gone with you."

He smiled at her. "You don't even know where I went." Perry looked up at Paul. "Why don't you take a lunch break?" he said. "Be back here in an hour and bring us a few sandwiches."

"Aye, aye, sir," Drake saluted. "I'll be glad to go. Hanging around with you two is more dangerous than a back alley gunfight. Now I know what the divorce court bailiff must feel like."

Perry motioned for Della to sit down and waited until Paul left the office before he began. "Della, I've been patient this morning," he said. "But I need you to level with me now. What happened in your apartment last night?"

"I told you, Chief," she said, ignoring his gesture and crossing to look out the window. "I had a terrible dream."

He exhaled into the back of his fingers. "You're lying to me."

"So I am," she said. "But it's the only choice I have right now."

He walked behind her and turned her to face him. "Tragg was here this morning, Della. Last night a woman was murdered in your building. They think you know something about it, and you could be in trouble if you keep playing this button-button-who's-got-the-button charade. I can't help you if you shut me out."

"I don't know anything about a murder," she said, tears starting in her eyes. "Why don't you believe me?"

"Because I know you better than this, Della. You're a bulldog in lace. Hell, sometimes in court I think we might do better if I let you loose on Burger." He brushed a tear from her cheek.

She laughed, but the smile faded. "Who was it? I mean, the girl who was murdered?" She cringed.

Perry removed his hands from her shoulders. "Didn't you know? It was Elise Haynes."

"I see," she said. The outside line rang and Della picked it up. Perry turned to stare at the wall.

"Perry Mason's office," she answered, relieved for the interruption, and more relieved that he was here with her. As long as Perry stayed within her reach, she knew he was safe.

"Miss Street," the voice replied. Della's spine contracted.

"You didn't keep up your end of the bargain," the ragged voice continued. The same voice that had pressed itself into her ear the night before. She felt him clutching her again, the pressure of his arm across her ribs and the barrel of the gun in her back.

"Who are you?" she said. Perry's head snapped to attention.

"I think you remember me well," he said. "I told you, Della, what you needed to do. I told you that if Mason didn't drop the Godfrey case that I'd be visiting him next. I watched him today. Flirting with the receptionist in your building, driving with the top down of that big, black convertible. All those open windows in the buildings lining the streets he drives down. And I thought, why not?"

Della started to cry.

"There, there, Miss Street, don't worry. You won't be lonely. You'll be next. Right behind Mason, as always. Now I'm telling you just one more time because I like you and you're a pretty girl." The line crackled, then the crash of the receiver echoed in her ear. Della saw white as her knees gave out. She held onto the desk for a few seconds, gasping for air. Perry walked over to her, picked up the phone she dropped on the desk and hung it up. Della staggered to the chair.

He didn't say anything, pulling out a bottle of alcohol from the bottom drawer of the desk. He wanted to shake her until she confessed, but instead calmly poured a drink and waited. He held out the glass to her, silently demanding a response but saying nothing. Della's face washed white and she trembled, barely able to hold on to the tumbler of scotch as she took it from him. He pulled up a chair next to her and put his hand on her knee.

"All right," she whispered to him, finally meeting his stare. "I'll tell you everything."

He sat back in the chair. "Thank God," he said.

"I woke up in the night and heard a noise. Of course my imagination started running wild," she said. "Or so I thought. I went to call you just to calm myself down. Silly, I guess."

"Not at all, Della."

"I remember what time it was. Twelve-twelve. I made a wish, you know how you did when you were a kid. Anyway, I picked up the phone and dialled your number. Then someone grabbed me from behind. I screamed and he pressed down the receiver to disconnect the line. Then I dropped the phone."

"He clamped his hand over my mouth and told me that somewhere a girl was dead tonight. Somewhere closer than I imagined and wasn't I lucky it wasn't me?"

She rubbed the hem of her skirt. "Then he told me that if you didn't drop the Godfrey case that he was going after you next." Perry pushed his chair closer to hers and pulled her to him.

"Go on, Della, it's important."

"There was a gun pressing into my back and he told me to lie face down on the sofa. He said that if I got up or called the police he would…" Her voice broke. "He'd find you right then. I did as he said, and he left. He went out the front door."

Perry thought for a minute. "Did he have to unlock the door to leave?"

"I don't know, Perry, it happened so fast and I can't remember. I didn't move until you got there." She buried her face into his shoulder. "I couldn't tell you because if I did I knew you'd be even more determined to keep the case." She looked up at him and smiled. "You forget, Perry, that as well as you think you know me, I know you better."

He laughed. She was right. Not only was he going to defend Godfrey, but also he was going to find the intruder and break every bone in his body.

"So I wanted a chance to convince you," she continued, "And all morning I've been trying to figure out how I was going to do it. Then I woke up and you were gone and I realized that not telling you put you in more danger. I was going to try, and then the phone rang. It was him again. He saw you today. Perry, if you would have been…I just don't know how I would manage without you."

He understood. She mirrored the way he had felt the night before, desperate to reach her apartment, imagining life without her in it but unable to fathom the thought. Perry Mason watched her eyes. She loves me, he thought. For years he hadn't let himself believe that he cared for her. She hadn't been eager to admit it, either. So on they went, finding excuses to spend time together, both too stubborn to acknowledge what had been obvious to everyone around them.

But now something just broke, Della knew, studying his face. She'd revealed her secret and discovered he shared the same one. He leaned his face toward hers. My God, he's finally going to kiss me, she thought, but just before their lips touched the phone sounded again. Della looked at it, then to him.

"It's the office line," he said. "I'll get it."

He squeezed her hand then crossed to pick up the phone. "Yes, Gertie?" A few seconds later he returned the receiver to the hook and sighed.

"What restaurant does Paul eat at?" he asked Della.

"That diner on the corner where they sell those greasy hamburgers," she said. "Why?"

Perry picked up his hat. "Grab your notebook and some pencils. We're going to find Paul then we've got to head down to the jail. They've just arrested Godfrey for Elise Haynes' murder."

He held the door open for Della, then pulled her back in at the last minute. "I forgot something," he said and closed the door. He leaned down and kissed her for several seconds.

"Courtroom lesson number one," he said, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. "Don't let interruptions deter you from getting to what's important."


	6. Chapter 6

Paul Drake had just dropped his napkin on the table when he saw Perry and Della enter the diner. His usual lunchtime waitress caught his eye. "Looks like you're back to work early," she said, nodding toward Mason.

"No rest for the wicked," Paul said. "See you tomorrow, Charlotte."

"Mr. Mason," she said as Perry and Della approached. "You're stealing my best customer before he's had time to eat a slice of cherry pie."

Paul grimaced. "Cherry? Why'd you have to tell me that? You know it's my favorite."

The waitress collected the dishes from the table. Perry patted Paul's stomach. "I think you'll make it without. Come on; we've got a job to do." He ushered Della toward the door.

Paul's eye caught the warm pie on the rack and he stopped to stare. Perry walked back and threw a bill on the counter. "Hey, Charlotte," he yelled. "Make sure there's a slice left for the hungry detective when he's done working."

"Thanks, Mr. Mason. Will do," she laughed. Paul sighed and followed Perry to the exit.

Mason drew the folded scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it to Della. "You're the navigator for this trip," he said. The three slid into the front seat, and Perry told them about Tragg's visit as he pulled out onto the road.

"Where are we going now?" Della asked. Perry pretended to study the road intently. He knew he would have to tell her, sooner or later, about his visit to her apartment complex.

She watched his face, aware that he was deliberately avoiding answering the question. She glanced over at Paul, who was concentrating on a short skirt walking down the sidewalk. Della decided not to push the issue. Now, she knew, was the time to let Perry think. Although the sun shone down on them, Della shivered as she thought about the raspy voice on the telephone. She gazed up at the buildings, remembering what the voice had said about observing Perry. The words replayed in her mind.

"Wait," she shouted, grabbing the lawyer's arm. "What were you doing flirting with the receptionist in my building?"

Perry slowed for a red light. Women, he thought. She could be upset about him being at her apartment plaza, or there was equal chance she was mad about the flirting. His mind weighed the possibilities as her stare bored into him. He looked at Paul, who shrugged in response.

"How did you know I was at your building?" he asked.

"The caller," she said. "He told me that he watched you talking to Holly, the day receptionist."

Perry tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "Okay, Della. While you were sleeping I went back to try to reconstruct last night. I thought if I could picture who was there when I arrived, I might be able to figure out if the man who told the police to go to the third floor was there when I was." She looked satisfied, to Perry's relief. Hiring Parker was news that would have to wait until later. "No dice, though. So I got the redhead at the desk to give me the night guard's address, maybe I could talk to him and he'd know something."

"Redheads," Paul said, turning his face to the sun. "Man, do I love the redheads."

"There's not much about the female sex you don't love, is there Paul?" Della said.

"Nope, now that you mention it," Drake said. She laughed and smacked his arm.

"Okay, you two," Mason said. He'd have to pad Paul's fee a little for that one. "Della, do you know the night guard? The girl at the desk called him Old Walt."

"Who in the building doesn't?" Della said. "He's known for sleeping on the job, but has been there so long no one has the heart to fire him. I suppose he could retire, but he's been supporting his granddaughter. Walt's son died in the war, and his daughter-in-law ran off with her neighbor's husband soon after. He tells us all that if he doesn't wake up one of these days, someone needs to make sure his check gets mailed to his granddaughter."

The car passed the Jameson Apartment Plaza. Della looked at the slip of paper. "If this address is correct, you should turn left here. Willis Street is the next block down."

"I knew this was the direction, but your attention to detail is invaluable, Miss Street," he said.

"At your service, Chief."

Paul Drake gagged audibly.


	7. Chapter 7

Della surveyed the alley that led to Old Walt's apartment. "Perry, do think this is a good idea?" she said. "I have a bad feeling."

Mason looked around and took Della's elbow. His first reaction was anger when she told him about the man who broke into her apartment, but now he was realizing the seriousness of the threat. What bothered him most about it was that she and Paul were with him. The alley lay hidden between two old buildings that had once served as turn-of-the-century hotels. The sun hadn't touched the ground in years here, and he felt watched. He checked the number on the slip of paper. Sure enough, this was Old Walt's address.

Perry nodded to Paul and the detective rang the bell. They waited for several seconds. "Guess he's not home, or he's sleeping," Drake said, and started to walk away from the door. "Probably best, Perry. This place gives me the willies."

Mason tried the knob, which turned easily in his hand. He looked at Paul and raised his eyebrows. "Looks open to me," he said.

"Oh, no," Paul said. "Every time something looks open to you, I can bet there's trouble on the other side of the door. It's these sort of shenanigans that have earned me a spot on Tragg's mud list."

"Ye of little faith," Mason said. "I don't like this place any more than you do, but we need to get some answers here. Old Walt's the only lead we have for identifying the man who killed Elise and threatened Della." He pushed the door open, reaching for Della's hand and leading her through the entryway.

"Walt?" he called. The kitchen floor shone white, contrasting with the filthy alley that led into it. A vase of fresh violets sat on the table next to a powder white cat, who washed its face and barely regarded the visitors. Paul reached out his hand to pet it, but it recoiled, hissing and then jumping from the table to hide underneath the sofa.

"Must be a female," he muttered, following Perry and Della into the living room that lingered of polish from a recent dusting.

Perry called the guard's name again. "I'm telling you, Mason, he's not here," Drake said. The lawyer peeked around the corner. His eyes searched the bedroom; the bed was unmade, a pair of men's pajamas hanging over the side. A blue pile of uniform lay in a heap on the floor. A dirty bowl sat on the nightstand.

"That's strange," Della said. "The rest of the place has been cleaned recently, but this room's a mess."

Perry stepped away from her, his eyes suddenly focusing on a foot that stuck out from the opposite side of the bed. He walked over and discovered Old Walt's body, the head turned at an eerie angle, the widened eyes staring at the wall as though they were frozen with the image of the killer. A half-dried gash strewed across the head, lowering itself into the face. "Della, get back," Perry ordered. Paul knelt next the form and touched the hand. "Not quite cold," he said. "And the blood hasn't completely congealed yet. This was a fairly recent job."

The lawyer turned to Della. "Call the police and don't talk to anyone besides Tragg's office," he said. "Report the murder and the address and then hang up."

She went into the adjoining room.

"Okay, Paul," Perry said. "You get Parker's report?"

"Clean," the detective responded. "Said he didn't find anything."

Mason glanced at Della, whose back was turned as she waited to be connected to Homicide. "When we get back I want you to get Parker in my office. Send another guy out here and have him talk with the neighbors. Maybe he can get some information before the police do."

"Right," Drake said. "You going to tell Della?"

"Tell me what?" she said behind him.

Perry grabbed her arm. "We'll talk about it in the car. Right now we're going back to the office, and none of us is going to remember being in here."

Drake made sure that the doorknob was wiped clean, and jogged to catch up with Perry and Della. As they drove off, the wail of approaching sirens triggered Mason's memory. This was the second time he'd just missed the police. Earlier, in front of Della's building, he'd seen Tragg and a couple guys. He had thought that they were just doing another check of the murder scene, but it had seemed strange that they'd used the sirens. He turned onto a side street, checking his rear view mirror.

He felt Della pressing close to him the entire ride back to the office. She didn't ask any thing else about his conversation with Paul in the apartment. Maybe he wouldn't tell her. After all, Parker didn't find anything, and all's well that end's well, he thought, pulling the car into the garage and handing the keys to Joe. "Thanks," he said, and escorted Della into the Brent Building.

Mason opened his office door to find Lieutenant Tragg on the other side. "Howdy, folks," Tragg said, tipping his hat. "Thought I'd drop in for story time. I see Miss Street's up from her nap."

Mason placed his hat on the rack. "She has nothing to say," he said.

Tragg smiled and pulled a bundle of letters, tied in a lavender ribbon, from his coat pocket. "I believe she does, Mason. Now shall we have our little meeting out here, or would you like to go into your office?" He tapped the letters against his palm.

Perry looked at Della, who studied the letters. "In my office," he said. He put his hand on Della's back and smiled at her. He hoped he looked more sure than he felt.

Tragg took the chair opposite Mason's desk. "Now Miss Street," he said. "How well do you know Randall Godfrey?"

"Not well at all," she said, feeling her cheeks burn. "He was a client of Perry's."

"He is a client of ours," Mason corrected her. His eyes moved to Tragg. "Lieutenant, you mind telling us why you're here?"

Tragg set the letters on the desk and patted them. "These tell a different story," he said. "Very different. This afternoon we got a tip that you could be a valuable tool in the Haynes murder case. When we searched your apartment, Detective Brawner found these behind your dresser, Miss Street. I haven't had a chance to read all of them, but from the few passages I've seen I would say you know Godfrey quite well. Or at least," the officer smirked, "he knows you."

Perry reached for the letters, but Tragg snatched them back. "Not so fast, Mason," he said. "I wasn't talking to you. I was bothering your secretary."

"Those aren't mine, Perry," she said. "I've never seen them before in my life."

He turned from her and walked to the window that overlooked the Los Angeles skyline. It wouldn't be the first time she had lied to him today.


	8. Chapter 8

Perry Mason's head swam. He had intended to get a few answers from Old Walt, send Paul off to get the scoop on Elise Haynes, then pay Randall Godfrey a visit. Now this new mess had cropped up, and he was no closer to finding out what had happened than he had been this morning. He squeezed his fist.

Gertie poked her head in the office. "Sorry to interrupt," she said. "But there's an urgent call for Lieutenant Tragg."

"Put him on the line in the library," Mason said, not turning around. He heard Tragg leave the room. Della walked over to him and rested her forehead against his back.

"You know better," she said, rubbing his arm. He reached across his chest to take her hand. His doubts faded.

"Della," he said, facing her and grabbing her shoulders. "We're in a bind. Are you sure you have no idea where those letters came from?"

"None."

He looked down at his shoes. "They weren't there this morning," he said. "Earlier I gave Paul your key and had him get Parker to take a look around your apartment. I thought you were in trouble and wanted to see if anything was going on. I saw him in your building when I went to talk to the receptionist. Paul said that his report was clear, so the letters had to have been planted after he left."

"You rat," she said, stepping back from him.

"Be mad later," he said. "We've got too much to do now. I have a hunch that call for Tragg is about Old Walt, and I'd bet money that they're going to try to pin it on Godfrey. Now someone's trying to mix you up in this, Della. Lucky that Tragg's got such a crush on you, or you'd probably be spending the night in a cell."

"Perry Mason, if I weren't so damned afraid that someone else was trying to kill you, I'd do it myself."

He smiled. "Touché."

"What are we going to do next?" she said.

"Well, I almost wish Tragg would take you in; at least I'd be sure you were safe. As far as the case goes, we've got to take one murder at a time. I need the word on Elise Haynes, and I still haven't made it down to talk with Godfrey."

"Do you think he did it?" she asked.

Perry wiped his face with his hand. "I don't know until I've had a chance to hear his story."

"That seems to be the first place we should go then," she said.

Perry turned back to look out the window. "You're not coming," he said. "I know you think I'm the one in danger, but you're a better target right now. After all, you've had contact with the killer twice. Now that Old Walt's gone, you're the only one left who could make an identification."

"You're not leaving me here," she said. "I want to help you."

Mason whirled around. "Damn it, Della," he said. "You'll be no help at all if that guy gets a hold of you. I want you to wait in the office for a while. After I'm done at the jail, I'm going call back here. You and Parker will then go to some remote hotel where no one will think to look. I need to go visit Goldmeier and then I'll come find you. We'll hide out tonight, get Paul's report, and maybe start putting some pieces together. Trust me."

She reached up on her toes and brushed his lips with hers. "I always do, Mr. Mason."

Tragg burst back into the room. "It looks as though we're going to have to cut our interview short for now, Miss Street. The sergeant just called to tell me that there's been another murder." He opened his notebook. "A Walter Roby. Sound familiar?"

"Should it?" Mason said.

"I guess not," Tragg said, returning the book to his pocket and picking up his hat. The lavender ribbon stuck out from the other side of his coat. "Except that Roby's next door neighbor said she saw three people leaving the apartment not a half hour ago. Said a pretty woman and two tall, handsome fellows scurried out of there. That certainly doesn't fit the description for you and Drake, now, does it?"

"Of course not, Tragg." Perry walked across the room to open the door for him. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other soon."

"We can't seem to avoid it," the officer said as he left.

Mason closed the door behind the lieutenant.

"Do you think he really believes I don't know anything about those letters?" Della said.

"Tragg's a lot of things, but dense isn't one of them," Mason said, lighting a cigarette. "He was just here to see what he could see. But I do think he's got something up his sleeve. I just wish I knew what it was."

Paul's code knock sounded and he and Allan Parker came through the hallway entrance. Mason looked at the young detective. He could have just walked off the prairie from bailing hay. Tall, muscular, with wavy blond hair and a face that made women melt, Parker had sealed the evidence for the Hanson case by convincing a reluctant blonde witness to testify for the defense, and subsequently blowing Burger's case to bits.

The lawyer watched Parker smile at Della. "Ma'am," the young man said, almost bowing to her. Her face couldn't hide that she was more than slightly impressed.

Mason's eyes narrowed. Maybe having Parker escort Della to a beachfront hotel wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.


	9. Chapter 9

Perry thought about the fear in Della's eyes as he passed through the security gates to the holding cells. He hated leaving her; but she'd be safer at the office. He had borrowed a car from Paul to prevent being tailed.

The walls of the jail seemed stained, as though painted to look worn and crumbling. When the guard opened the cell door, Mason saw a pacing Randall Godfrey. "Your attorney's here," the man announced to the prisoner. Perry thanked him and set his briefcase on the table.

In the starched clothes Godfrey's sinewy form took on the shape of a wounded bird. He smoked rapidly, not exhaling until he lifted the cigarette to his lips once more. Mason watched the man pace a square of three feet. He knocked his knuckles on the table, and Godfrey froze.

"Randall, you going to wear a hole in that floor or are you going to tell me what is going on?"

Godfrey's empty eyes took in Mason. "It's about time you showed up here." He regarded the lawyer's gesture to sit for a few seconds, then pulled back the chair and sat. Mason rubbed his chin in his palm and surveyed the man across from him. There was no doubt that Randall Godfrey never took the high road; he certainly had been no gentleman to Elise Haynes, but Mason couldn't devise a feasible scenario for why he would murder her, either.

He knew Burger would claim the motive for knocking off Elise was to silence her. Everyone knew that she was the primary witness against him in the embezzlement charge. Godfrey's eyes didn't flinch. He wasn't a stupid man. Perry accepted the case in the first place because he knew that if Randall Godfrey had stolen that money, he wouldn't have been caught. Now he was looking at constructing a defense for not only a fraud charge, but also one and possibly two counts of first-degree murder. And he might have to do it without Della.

"Godfrey," Mason said. "Do you remember my secretary's name?"

"Miss Street," he said.

"What about her first name?"

Godfrey raised an eyebrow and threw his arm over the back of the chair. "You want me to take her off your hands or something, Mason? 'Cause I'd be more than happy to."

Perry Mason's arm flew out and clutched Godfrey's collar. He pulled the man across the table until their faces were inches apart. "I'm three seconds," Mason said, "from walking out of here and leaving you to fry. But I came to know one thing. Were you in Della Street's apartment last night?"

Godfrey's eyes bulged. "What, man?"

"You heard me," Mason said, squeezing tighter. "Were you?"

"No," Godfrey gasped. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

Perry watched the man's face. "What about Elise Haynes' place? Were you there?"

"I can't breathe, Mason. Let me go." Godfrey squirmed and Mason released him. The man stood and lit another cigarette. He walked to the bars and stared out for several seconds, exhaling rings of smoke and digging at his cuticles. He turned back to Mason.

"I was at Elise's," he said. "But when I left her she was fine. I swear."

Perry nodded and tipped a cigarette from the package on the table. "Tell me the whole story of what happened from the time you went to Elise's until you left."

Godfrey sat down and looked square at the lawyer. "Okay, I ain't proud of what I did. For the last year or so Elise and I have had a thing going on. You know how it is, Mason. She's a pretty girl with long hair and longer legs. I couldn't help myself."

"No," Mason said, "I don't know how it is. But get on with your story."

"Anyway," Godfrey said, "I started feeling kind of bad about the whole thing. What if my wife found out? And I'd be the laughing stock of the whole office if Elise dumped me, so I broke it off with her first. Two days later Goldmeier reports the books are off and Elise points the finger at me. I tried to tell Goldmeier that it was just her way of getting back at me, but all of a sudden he's saying that the accountant has traced the discrepancy back to my books and I'm really in trouble. So last night I went to her apartment to try to talk to her one more time. See, I know a secret about Elise that she wouldn't want to get out to too many people."

Perry extinguished his cigarette. "And what's that?"

"Doesn't matter now. Anyway, I begged her to just tell the truth, but she kept saying she knew I did it, see? Then she tried to tell me she'd be quiet for $5,000. I told her that I couldn't give her something I didn't steal, and we didn't get any further than that. Some yelling, but I didn't touch her, honest. I slammed the door and left."

"Did you see or talk to any one on your way out?" Mason asked.

"Just the old door man," Godfrey said. "I think I said something about how impossible women are, and he just laughed. Then I walked out the door, got in my car, and went home. I was there until the police picked me up about noon today."

"Randall, do you own a revolver?"

"Yeah," Godfrey said.

"Do you know where it is right now?" Mason asked.

"I keep it in the drawer of the desk in the den."

Mason leaned onto the table. "Have you seen it since yesterday?"

"Well, no," Godfrey said, "Nobody's in the den much, and I just have it there in case any one would break in or something."

"I'm guessing ten to one it's the gun the police found in my secretary's apartment. They also found what appeared to be love letters to her from you. Do you know anything about that?" Mason said.

Godfrey put his hand up to his throat. "I know that I was smart with you when you got here today, Mason. But I'm not lying to you. If my gun's in your secretary's apartment I don't know how it got there. And I'm telling you right now I've never written your secretary or anyone else's a love letter in my life."

Mason picked up his briefcase. "Except for Goldmeier's. What time did you leave Elise's apartment last night?"

"A little before midnight," Godfrey said and shrugged. "I didn't pay much attention until I got home. My wife was still up, and that was about twenty after twelve. So I would have had to left Elise's before midnight."

"Godfrey," Mason said, motioning for the guard to let him out, "What did you have on Elise Haynes?"

The skinny man frowned and shook his head. "I didn't kill her, Mason. And I'm not going to smear her name now."

The lawyer slid the bars closed, then looked through them at Godfrey. "One more thing," he said. "I'm defending you because it's my job. But someone's trying to get my secretary messed up in this, and I'm going to get this cleared up for her. If I find out that you haven't told me the truth, or that you're holding out something on me that will directly affect this case, the electric chair will be the least of your worries, Godfrey. I'll pound you into a meat pie." He made a little bow and half smiled. "You think about that until tomorrow, Randall."

He was passing by the main desk when a secretary shouted his name. "There's a call for you from a Mr. Paul Drake." She passed Mason the phone.

"Paul," he said. "What'd you find out from Goldmeier?"

"He's got an alibi for last night," Paul said. "A water-tight one. But I got something else first. I made a few calls to my pal at the station and found out that Old Walt was in there this morning. Made a positive identification of Godfrey as being in Elise's building last night a few minutes after midnight. That's why Tragg was snooping around your office earlier with those letters."

Perry grabbed a pencil from his pocket. "What about the letters?"

"Pretty poorly done fakes, from what I've heard," Drake said. "Meant to divert attention for a little while. My contact claims that the police were given an anonymous tip this morning to head down to Della's apartment for another look. Parker said he didn't see anything, but did notice a few people in the hallway as he was leaving the apartment. I'm telling you Perry, if he didn't find them, I'll bet my eye-teeth they weren't put there until after he left."

"Good, Paul," Perry said.

"One more thing," the detective said. "Goldmeier's accountant has been taken in. That $50,000 that's missing didn't come from Godfrey's books."

"So what's that mean?" Mason said.

"It means that this case is more complicated that it seems," Drake said. "Couldn't be a one man job like they thought before. It's just a hunch, but I wouldn't be surprised if Goldmeier himself doesn't have something to do with it."

"All right, Paul, thanks. Now go down and check on Della. Tell her I'll be calling soon and she and Parker can take off."

"What are you talking about?" Paul said. "They left about twenty-five minutes ago."

Perry's face blanched. "What?"

"Parker came up here and told me you'd called and given them the signal. I saw them head out."

Perry swallowed and looked out into the horizon. The sun hung over the skyline, and the connection dawned on Mason. Who would have known if he dropped the case this morning? Who knew he'd be defending Godfrey? Most importantly, who managed to get his private office number? A gull flew overhead and Perry's stomach soured. He heard Paul's voice ask if he was still there.

"I didn't call them," Perry said, his voice toneless as he watched the gull dip and rise in the air. "He's after Della. And I gave her to him, Paul."


	10. Chapter 10

Allan Parker held the door open for her. Della clutched the handle of her purse and tried to return his smile. She knew she had to trust him, but she hated leaving the office without knowing precisely where Perry was or when he would be with her.

"Come on, Miss Street," Parker said. "Is something wrong?" Della noticed his biceps flex as he pushed the door open further.

"No, of course not," she said, tearing her eyes away from his arm. "I just think it's funny that Perry didn't want to talk to me when he called."

Parker walked toward her, letting the door close behind him. His hand reached up to her shoulder and ran across her back. "I told you, Miss Street. He said that he had to hurry and would see us in a few hours. I said I wouldn't let you out of my sight until he was there, and I meant it. Don't worry."

The door opened and Jerry, the Brent Building doorman, walked in. "Miss Street?" he said. His eyes moved to Parker's hand, which firmly grasped Della's left shoulder. "Where's Mr. Mason this afternoon?"

"He had to go out, Jerry. Detective Parker here is just giving me a ride over to meet up with him." Della smiled and let the young man escort her through the front door out into the garage. She felt caught, knowing full well what Jerry must have assumed. Wriggling out of Parker's grasp, Della looked back to see if the doorman had followed them out. He hadn't. A car exited the garage, leaving silence behind. Parker pointed with his keys to the convertible they would take, and the secretary suddenly felt cold. Her footsteps echoed like shots on the concrete. She felt the detective staring at her and looked at him. She couldn't help but to laugh at his shy smile. Normally she would jump at the chance to make Perry jealous and spend the day with a football player ten years her junior and obviously enamoured with her. She threw one last look back at the door to the building, then brushed the hair out of her face. "Let's go," she said, and stepped into the car.

Parker put the key in the ignition. "Look here, Miss Street," he said. "I know you are nervous, but I want you to know I promised Mr. Mason that I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

"Thank you, Allan," she said.

"He likes you a lot," the boy said, backing the car from the spot. "I don't blame him, either."

"That's very sweet of you," she said. "But I'm not afraid for me. I'm worried about him."

Parker looked over Della out into traffic. "Mr. Drake filled me in earlier about what happened, Miss Street. You got nothing to worry about. He's going to be just fine." He put his hand on her knee, not looking at her, but letting his fingers slide just inside the hem of her skirt. She jumped at his touch, but he just squeezed her knee. "You're in good hands, ma'am," he said. He put his hand back on the steering wheel and pulled out onto the street. "Very good ones."

Della looked up at the Brent Building as they drove by it. She thought about Perry, still finding it strange that he wouldn't have wanted to talk to her. Maybe Godfrey said something that upset him. Remembering the letters, Della sighed. Even though Perry had to know they weren't hers, she worried that he might pull away from her. I should have told him everything last night, she thought, then he'd have no reason at all to doubt me. She looked over at Parker, whose lazy blond hair blew in the sunshine. A little handsy, maybe, but Della couldn't help to feel anything but flattered. She sat up straighter and turned her face toward the skyline. A gull flew overhead, circling and then landing near a small child playing on a park bench. Parker was right; she didn't have anything to worry about. Perry would take care of himself, and the only one who would have something to fear was the boy driving the blue convertible she rode in. That is, Della laughed to herself, if I ever tell Perry about how he put his hand on my knee. She stretched out her leg and looked down at it, trying to see it as a twenty-five year old boy would. Glancing over at Parker a second before he could switch his gaze from her legs up to her eyes, Della Street smiled at him. If nothing else, it was nice to be with a man who noticed her.

She looked out again, but not in the mirror behind her. If Della had, she would have seen the driver of a black sedan who watched them, following, as they left the city on a lonely stretch of highway leading to the beach.


	11. Chapter 11

Mason didn't wait to be announced before bursting into Roger Goldmeier's library. "Where is she?" he demanded. Goldmeier looked up from his evening edition and pulled the pipe from his lips.

"Where is who, my good man?"

Paul Drake grabbed Mason's drawn back arm and pushed him to the side. "Della Street," he said. "We've got good reason to believe you have her."

Goldmeier stood, a robust man with a sprawling chest and a height that rivalled the lawyer's. He was wearing a cranberry smoking jacket, and waxed his moustache at the ends so they pointed like a cartoon villain's. Drake would have laughed at him; a low-life who stumbled on a few bucks making loans at scandalous interest rates. A quick background check revealed that even his name was a lie. The prosperous Roger Goldmeier had been the bum Harvey Crott just fifteen years back.

"Where were you last night around midnight, Goldmeier?" Mason asked.

The man rolled a moustache end between his fingers. "I was in bed at that time," he said. "Early to bed, early to rise…I can assure you gentlemen, I'm living proof such an adage is truth."

"Then you didn't receive a phone call from Elise Haynes last night at 11:50?" Mason bore his eyes into the man, who laughed.

"You're simply off your rocker," Goldmeier said. "Why would I be talking with my secretary at such an hour? But then again," he made a grand gesture toward Mason, "from what I read in the gossip columns it's not so uncommon for we men of importance to play house these days."

Drake thought about letting Mason take a swing at him, but they needed information from Goldmeier before they rendered him unconscious. He stepped in front of the lawyer. "Look," he said, "Elise Haynes called here last night and talked for approximately three minutes. She was found dead in her apartment about a half an hour later. Now we want to know what she told you."

The man inhaled heavily on the pipe. "Elise Haynes fancied herself a high class woman," he said. "But she was wrapped up with that Godfrey and who knows who else. I had let her go earlier that day. You see, gentlemen, we had discovered that Godfrey wasn't acting alone. The star witness against him was in fact in on the scheme with him. Imagine that. My own private secretary robbing me blind."

"The police reported that your accountant's just been taken in. No one's accused Elise of anything yet," Drake said.

"Give them time, give them time," Goldmeier answered.

"What about the call?" Mason pressed.

"She begged me to forgive her and placed the blame on him. She said she'd worked too hard to have it blow up in her face, and asked for mercy," Goldmeier said. "I assume that Godfrey overheard her end of the conversation and realized that even you, Mr. Mason, wouldn't be able to save his hide. He then shot Elise and ran down to your Miss Street's apartment. Word has it that the police have found evidence there."

Drake frowned. "Who told you that?"

"Now I see why everyone's so eager to find your Miss Street," Goldmeier laughed. "You men see that she's the one you should be interrogating, not me."

Mason and Drake looked at one another. "We'll be seeing you later," Drake called to Goldmeier as he and the lawyer hurried out the front door. The two jumped into Mason's car. "Della's?" Drake asked.

"I think I know what happened," Mason said. "We'll see if Goldmeier's story pans out. If I were a betting man I'd say he knows more than he's telling."

"You aren't kidding," Paul said. "I'd pay a million bucks to know what Elise Haynes was hiding."

Mason set his foot down heavy on the gas pedal. "I have a feeling she was paying quite a bit to keep it hidden. But someone else besides Godfrey knew who her skeleton was, and it ended up getting her killed."

"Doesn't get us any closer to Della, though," Paul said. "You may want to slow it down, Perry. I'd like to get out of this car in one piece." He looked over at the lawyer, knowing his words fell on deaf ears. Drake rubbed at the tension headache growing in his forehead. If they didn't find Della Street in time, he knew, it'd be the end of Perry Mason as well.

Mason checked his watch. It'd been less than twenty-four hours before when once again he found himself speeding through Los Angeles, frantic over Della's whereabouts. Last night he had known blind terror; now he knew she most certainly was in danger. The key difference is that he knew where to find her in the darkness the night before, and as the sun set tonight Perry Mason had no idea where to even begin looking.

Once again he found himself headed toward her apartment building. He lit cigarettes off one another as he replayed what Godfrey had told him at the jail, and their conversation with Goldmeier. Elise's secret was of no value to Godfrey except that it allowed him to fancy himself a knight in shining armor. Perry scoffed at the thought of it. He hated men like Godfrey, who used women to get money and power, and then tossed the girl aside once the goal was obtained. He'd bet that Goldmeier didn't know at all about Elise. He was probably the one who she was trying to keep it hidden from.

Barely stopping the car at a red light, Perry buried his head in his hands. He couldn't stand it, knowing that Della was an open target for whoever was after her. The only thing he could do was piece together who Elise's killer was; and hope he figured it out before it was too late.

Paul was smoking a cigarette and staring out the passenger window. He'd given Paul the task of sniffing out a trail, but didn't hold out much that the detective would come through. Drake had been as close as Perry had ever seen him to tears, apologizing over and over and kicking himself. He'd tried to tell Mason that Della was as safe with Parker as she'd be with one of them, but neither believed it. The kid may be a decent detective, and certainly could charm the pink from the rose, but he and Della, alone and unsuspecting, were as vulnerable as lambs in a lion's den. The usual camaraderie that possessed the two men as they worked together on cases was gone. A dull fear, the missing part, the absence of Della hung on them in drab helplessness.

Mason parked along side the entrance to Della's building and the men made their way in with the key she'd given Perry this morning. The lobby, which had been bustling with voices earlier in the day, now took on the hush of a funeral parlor. Perry surveyed the area, once more trying to remember if anyone had been in there the previous night, but to no avail. He led Paul up the stairs to Della's apartment and let them in.

Paul went to the study window and saw evidence that it had been forced open from the outside, as Tragg said the police had found that morning. Perry pulled the window up and stuck his head out. Only the second floor, and a wide ledge. No problem for someone to hold onto the drain pipe and shimmy down a floor. He looked at the ground, then jumped back into the room. He hated heights.

Mason walked into Della's bedroom. She'd left her robe strewn across the bed. He reached for it then saw a man's wristwatch on the nightstand. He crossed the room and picked it up. He stared at it a few seconds, thinking, before replacing it and opening her clothes closet door. Mason pulled out a man's shirt, large enough to fit him.

"Paul," he called, "What do you make of this?" He held the shirt up by the shoulders.

"Is it yours?" the detective asked.

Mason set his jaw. "No," he said. "Neither is that wristwatch on the night stand. But I can tell you that these things weren't here this morning when Della and I left."

"Cheap watch," Drake said, picking up the time piece. "You think whoever got the letters in here left this stuff as well?"

"I'm betting so. Why didn't Parker say anything about it in the report?"

"Probably didn't think much of it," Drake said. "It's not what he was looking for, anyway."

Mason picked up the shirt and held it up. "Doesn't fit, Paul. I think that the person who left this stuff wanted the police to find it. And I think they wanted it to look like Godfrey made himself at home here. After all, it's just like him. Expensive shirt, cheap watch. But they forgot to do their homework."

Paul looked out the window in confusion for a second, then jerked his eyes back toward the shirt Mason had tossed on the dresser. "It'd fit Goldmeier and it'd fit you, Perry. The only person would have planted it is Godfrey. It wouldn't be hard for him to figure out where Della lives, and once he realized that she and Elise were neighbors, he saw his chance. After all, Perry, this frame up is a joke."

Mason let out a sigh. "But why go after Della?"

"Because he probably thought she was the one who called the police," Drake said. "And, if he can keep you two riled up over this, you're less likely to piece together what really happened. Everyone knows you'd never drop a case, Perry. You're determined to go through with it, but you're distracted. Elise is out of the picture, and it wouldn't take much to discredit Goldmeier in the courtroom. Godfrey walks away with a mint, and there's no one who can testify against him."

"Except Della," Mason said.

Drake looked at him. "Except Della," he repeated.

Perry leaned over the bed and picked up her robe. He held it close to his face for a second before laying it back down. "She's smart," he said. "Probably is having a drink with Parker at the hotel, wondering where I am."

"Yeah," Drake said, forcing a smile. "She'll laugh at us for being so slow." They walked out of the apartment in silence, locking the door behind them. Both knew that going to the hotel now was a big risk. If she wasn't there, they were an hour away from the city. But there was no where left to go, so they loaded into the car and headed west, blinded by the setting sun.


	12. Chapter 12

The sky streaked red and purple as the convertible sped down the highway toward the coast. Della Street let herself relax and leaned her head back to look up into the darkening blue overhead. In a few minutes they'd be at the hotel, and just a little while after that Perry would be there too. Her stomach fluttered. They'd be there all night.

"Did Drake ever tell you," Parker asked, "Why he hired me?"

Della smiled at the young man's arrogance. "No," she said. "He must not have got around to it."

Parker's left arm stretched across the top of the steering wheel. He brushed hair out of his eyes with his right hand then extended that arm over the back of Della's seat. She saw in him a younger Paul, confident and attractive, yet lacking the maturity that older detective possessed. She thought about it, how lucky she was not only to have Perry, but also Paul as well. They made her feel as though nothing could ever hurt her. She heard the caller's voice in her head. Maybe Perry would already be at the hotel when they arrived.

"Well," he said. "A few months ago I was at the Flamingo one evening, just there to meet people, you know. Drake comes up and sits down at my table – of course I didn't know who he was at the time. He explains to me that he's a detective and needs to get some information out of a girl a few tables away. He wants me to go up to her and act like a cad so he can come over and rescue her. She appreciates him, lets him buy her a drink, and then he can get her talking. Smooth trick, I thought. Why not? I mean, Miss Street, it's not like I haven't made an idiot out of myself in front of one of you California girls before."

She smiled at him. "You look like you do fine to me, Country Boy."

"Anyway," he said, turning his head to hide a blush, "I go over to her and give her a cheap pick-up line. I put my arm around her, nothing bad, you know, just trying to be annoying. She rolls her eyes and I see Drake strolling up to the table. He flashes me a dirty look, then says to the girl, 'He bothering you, Miss?' Well, I expect her to give me the old heave ho, but I didn't want it to look fake. So I get out of my chair to face Drake. The girl grabs my arm and pulls me back down. She looks up at Drake and says, 'We're having a good time, Pops. And I'll have you know that I don't need a father watching over me.'"

Della threw back her head and laughed. "Poor Paul," she said. "I can just see his face now. What'd you do then?"

"I knew I was in over my head," he said. "But I saw a good opportunity. So I asked her if I could buy her a drink. When I went to the bar I found Drake and offered to help out. He didn't want to let me at first. You could tell his ego was bruised. But he needed the scoop and told me what he wanted out of her. A few martinis later I had it, and he offered me a job on the spot. Been working with him since."

Della nodded and smelled the salt in the air. She could almost hear the ocean, and knew they weren't far now. The first star appeared over the horizon, and she wished that Perry would be at the hotel when they got there. He'd send Parker back to the city, and then the two of them, alone, would let the last twenty-four hours slip away to the dark ocean. She closed her eyes for a few seconds.

"So how long you been working for Mason?" Parker asked.

"It makes me feel old to think about," she smiled, staring at the road ahead of her. "Over ten years now. But I wouldn't consider doing anything else."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, steering the car around a curve. "Being a detective's definitely for me."

"What did you do before? When you first came out to the coast?"

"Ah, man," he said. "I've done a lot of things. I wanted to get into the movies, but didn't quite make it. I had a few jobs, but nothing that amounted to anything." 

"Why?" Della asked.

"I wished someone would have told me before I left," he said, "But I can't act to save my life."

"You said you had a few jobs, Allan. You're selling yourself short."

He smirked and rubbed his chin. "I do have one talent that they found useful."

The ocean was just visible in the impeding darkness. Della looked out onto the water. She'd appreciated Parker's interest, and how he'd kept her from worrying by telling stories about Drake and life on his parents' Kansas farm. A sweet boy, she thought, watching him shift gears. She waited for him to finish his story. When he said nothing more she asked, "And what talent is that?"

"Voices," he said, as though no lapse in the conversation had occurred.

"Voices?" she said, "Like what?"

"I don't know," he said, "Cartoons, puppets, things like that."

"Say something," she said, laughing. "I bet you're really good."

His blue eyes turned to her. Della's blood stopped as the voice she'd heard that morning on the phone reached her ears. "My dear Miss Street," he whispered, smiling at her fear. "Didn't you know I'm going to kill you?"


	13. Chapter 13

"The hell you are," Della Street said, pulling a gun from her purse. She pointed it in between Parker's eyes and watched him.

"What are you doing?" he said, batting at her hand. She swiped it away and held the gun steady.

"Sorry, Kansas," she said. "But this California girl's not falling for the old boy song and dance. I had no idea you were this stupid, but I've worked with Perry long enough to learn that it's not a good idea to trust every good-looking boy who squeezes your knee."

Parker's mouth dropped open. "So you knew?"

"No, not exactly," she said, keeping the gun directed toward his head. "You are a good actor. Unfortunately, you gave yourself away."

He looked at the road in front of him then suddenly lunged for the gun, but she dodged his grasp. The car swerved, tossing rocks and losing control. Della grabbed the steering wheel with her left hand and pulled the car back on the road. He reached for the gun, seizing her wrist until it flashed pain. Struggling to escape his grasp, she kicked at him. The convertible ran off the road, skidding into the gravel until spinning and slamming into a ditch. The impact knocked her into the dashboard, and she looked up into the sky, blazing with stars, then lapsed into unconsciousness.

An ambulance flew past Mason's car as he and Paul headed toward the coast. The men, who had ridden in silence and smoke, looked at each other. Mason took in a breath, then set his foot on the gas pedal until it touched the floor. He stayed right with the ambulance, ignoring Paul's shifting in the seat and nervous glances.

The car glided around a curve in pursuit of the ambulance. "Now, Perry," Paul started. "I know what you're thinking, but you're jumping to conclusions. Della is fine. We, on the other hand, are not going to survive the night if you don't slow down."

"Shut up, Drake," Mason said. The ambulance break lights flashed, and its headlights shown on to the rear of a convertible on the side of the road. Perry stomped on the break and the car skidded to a stop. He jumped out of the car, Paul trailing. The detective grasped Mason's shoulder as they approached the convertible.

"Wait," he said, stopping the lawyer. "That's Parker's agency car."

Mason snatched his arm away and started running toward the car. A medic had opened the passenger car and was trying to keep Della Street from getting up. "Please, lady," Perry could hear the medic say, "You might be in shock. Stay there." He hurried to her, throwing the door open and helping her up.

A large bump already raised from her forehead. "Perry," she smiled lazily, "Where are we?" He slid his arm around her waist as she melted against him. His other arm cradled her legs behind her knees as he lifted her off the ground.

"Bring her here," one of the medics shouted, beckoning Perry to a stretcher set up behind the ambulance. He carried her over and lay her down, shushing her and keeping hold of her hand. The paramedic flashed a tiny light into her eyes. "She's fine," he said. "No concussion, but there is a nasty bump on the head. Make her lie here for a little while. We've got another car coming in a minute."

Perry looked around the desolated highway. "Who reported the accident?" he asked.

The medic shrugged. "Must have been someone just passing by," he said. "There's a café about a mile and a half up the road. Could have called from there." He looked over at the wrecked car where another medic was beckoning toward him. "Sorry, I need to go over there. Keep her still, will you?"

Paul advanced toward Perry. "Walk with me for a second," he said. Perry touched Della's cheek. She closed her eyes and relaxed onto the pillow. The two men stepped out of her hearing distance.

"What it is, Paul?"

"It's Parker," the detective said. "They're getting him out of the car now. He's dead."

"I'm sorry," Mason said. "I don't think Della knows, though. She's out of it." He glanced back toward the stretcher.

Drake pulled a packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He grabbed one then handed the pack to Perry. Mason lit Paul's, then his. "Was he killed on impact?" the lawyer asked.

Sirens interrupted Paul. Three police cars flew onto the scene, creating a cloud of dust. Four officers emerged, hurrying toward the crashed car. Flashbulbs smacked bursts of light onto the scene. "What the devil is going on?" Mason asked.

"That's it, Perry," Drake said. "Parker didn't die in the crash. I was over there when they started to put him on the stretcher, and they had to stop until the police arrived. He's got a bullet hole through his head." He looked up toward Della. "And the police are going to want to know how it got there."


	14. Chapter 14

Perry Mason heard his name being called in the darkness. He turned toward the voice and saw a short man advancing toward them. "Mr. Mason," he called again.

"Jerry?" the lawyer asked, straining to see. The doorman broke into a run.

"Is she all right, Mr. Mason?"

Perry shouted back, "She'll be fine." He looked at Paul and pointed toward the wreck. "I want you to go over there and find out as much as you can," Mason said. "I'm going to talk to Jerry for a minute."

The doorman, slightly limping, stopped in front of Mason and bent over, holding his knees and struggling for breath. "I know it's not my place," he said, "but I followed them out here."

"Followed?" Perry said. "Why?" He pulled the man upright.

"It just wasn't right, when they left," Jerry said. "Miss Street looked almost frightened, and you wasn't there, neither was Mr. Drake. I just didn't like the looks of that Parker fellow. Never have, to tell the truth. And the way he kept his arm around her. I could tell she didn't like it."

Perry's jaw tensed. "Parker?"

"Yes, Mr. Mason," the doorman continued. "I was coming in the building when I ran into him and Miss Street. He had his arm around her, but I could tell her skin crawled a little bit. She said he was taking her to see you. Didn't seem like she wanted to go, but he pushed her right out the door. I watched them go, but it wouldn't sit with me. So I went out the front door and got in my car and followed them all the way out here. When they got in the wreck I drove on to call an ambulance. I was going to stop, but I thought it'd be better if I got help here as quickly as possible. I'm sorry to have been so nosy, Mr. Mason."

"Sorry?" Perry said. "We should be thanking you."

"Oh, no need," Jerry said. "Della Street's one of my favorite people who walks through the door in the morning." He patted Mason's chest and winked. "And everyone knows that you're the only man she ever leaves with in the evening. Something strange was going on. I guess I was just doing my job."

"Did you see any other cars on the road?" Mason asked.

"No, not that I recollect," Jerry said.

"Not even in passing as you went to the café to call and report the accident?"

The doorman sighed. "I don't think so."

"And how long were you in the café?"

"Only a few minutes. I went up to the counter and told the woman that there'd been an accident on the highway and someone needed to call an ambulance. She said that the pay phone was in the back, and it'd be quicker if I did it myself."

The lawyer's eyes flashed. "Was anyone in the café?"

"Maybe a few tables full," Jerry said. "Nobody that sticks out in my mind."

Paul Drake walked up to the two men. "Police found what they think is the murder weapon. A .38. About six feet from the car."

"On what side?" Mason asked.

"Driver's," Drake said. "They took it in as evidence. They're looking at tracks now. Seems that Parker swerved quite a few times before crashing."

"Any marks from another car?"

"Nope. Not that they can tell. No foot prints, either, that don't come from the medics." Drake closed his notebook and put it in his pocket. "They're not going to be able to do much more until morning. Let's just hope it doesn't rain." He looked to the sky, and the stars that had shown brilliantly were now shaded with clouds.

Mason noticed that Della had sat up on the stretcher and was looking around. "Listen, Paul," he said. "You ride back to the city with Jerry. I want you to get a secretary in tonight to take down exactly what he saw from the time he started trailing Parker and Della until he got back here from the restaurant."

"Sure," Drake said. "You know the police are going to want to talk to Della."

"They're not going to get to now," Mason called over his shoulder as he walked toward the stretcher. "We'll see you in the morning."

Della reached out for him. "Perry, it was him. Parker. He's the one who was in my apartment last night." She held his hand as his eyes flashed and darted to the crashed car. He helped her off the stretcher.

"Are you okay, Della?" he said. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Smiling weakly, she took his arm. "I'm fine, Chief. A little banged up, but nothing a good night's sleep won't mend."

"Okay," he said. "We've got to get you out of here before the police start looking around for witnesses. You can talk tomorrow." He picked up her elbow to lead her to the car. She winced and he let her go.

"My wrist," she cringed. "He twisted it really hard when he was trying to get the gun out of my hand." Perry stopped and grabbed her shoulders.

"Did you shoot him?" he asked.

"No," she said. "He said he was going to kill me and I pulled it on him. He lunged for it and we struggled, and then the car crashed. I don't remember it firing at all."

Mason hurried her to his car and helped her in. "Della, Parker's dead," he said when she was settled. "He was shot. Do you know where that gun is?"

"I don't have it," she told him. "It would have been dropped."

"Why the hell were you carrying a gun?" Mason demanded, slamming the door and starting the car. "Don't you know he could have taken it from you and shot you? Damn, Della, sometimes you amaze me." He rubbed his index finger against his lips, hearing a small sob come from her. He put the car in gear and sped toward the ocean.

"I'm sorry," he said after several minutes of listening to quiet crying. She didn't respond. He put out his hand toward her, lightly brushing her left hand.

"Don't touch me," she said, moving inches away from his fingers.

Mason smiled and picked up her hand to press it to his lips. "I've got a crush on you, Miss Street."

She sniffed and turned her head toward him. Her eyes, puffy from crying and swelling from the knot on her forehead, studied him. His lips kissing hers, earlier today, was that a dream? She wondered. She squeezed his hand, feeling the dull pounding behind her eyes. Thank God he was here. Turning his face toward hers, he reached over the seat and put his arm around her shoulders. She slid over and leaned her head against his shoulder. He turned off onto a side road that led to a small motel on the shore.

"I don't even have a toothbrush," she said.

"Don't worry about it," he told her as he put the car in park and reached up to stroke her hair. "The guy's got a small shop in the back. For tourists and honeymooners. We'll get whatever we need there."

"What will we tell the manager?" she said.

"About what?"

"About us."

Mason opened the car door and helped her out the driver's side. "Della, we'll tell him that you barely survived today without me, and that surely I won't survive tonight without you, and because of those two facts we don't intend to spend a minute more apart. If he asks any more than that, we'll tell him to mind his own damn business."


	15. Chapter 15

Paul Drake's code knock sounded at promptly 9 o'clock the next morning. "Come in," Perry yelled, and the detective burst in Mason's office, where Della had just poured a cup of coffee for Perry.

"Boy, do I have a lot to tell you," Drake began, pulling his notebook from his pocket. He looked up at the secretary. "Holy smokes," he said. "You look like you got into an argument with a steam engine and lost."

She lightly brought her hand to her face. "I think purple is my color," she said. "But it's really not as bad as it looks."

Drake shook his head. "First of all, we got Jerry's statement last night. Now, there's a lot of holes in the timeline. Someone easily could have shot Parker and had plenty of opportunity to escape. I checked into the area, and there's a few dirt roads along side the highway. Also, I looked into that café that Jerry called from." He flipped a page of the notebook. "Owned by a lady named Lucy Goodland," he said.

"Lucy Goodland?" Della said. "She's Goldmeier's wife."

"Ex-wife," Paul corrected. "Bitter divorce, lots of money, made the newspapers a few years ago."

"He drug her through the mud," Della said. "Her father is Loren Goodland, Perry."

Mason nodded. Goodland was a well-respected businessman whose only daughter's wedding to Goldmeier had been the splashy social event of the season. The honeymoon was soon over when pictures of the bride in the arms of a prominent politician appeared in gossip magazines. The couple had split, Goldmeier insisting on his share of her wealth. Lucy Goodland's father, humiliated by his daughter, had agreed to pay Goldmeier a healthy settlement in exchange for secrecy regarding what had happened during the few months the marriage had lasted.

"There was always something fishy about that whole deal," Mason said. He thought few a few seconds. "We've got a lot to do. Godfrey's hearing has been scheduled for Tuesday, and all we have in front of us is a mess. Let's just get on the table what we know so far."

Della reached for her stenographer's book. "First, we know that Elise Haynes was killed on Wednesday night around midnight. The killer, we think, then broke into my apartment and left through my door."

"Our first problem," Mason said. "We don't know if that's true or not."

"What do you mean?" Paul said. "I thought you said that Parker was Della's mystery intruder."

Mason paused before he answered. The case had seemed simple; except that Parker, as far as they knew, had no motive for either killing Elise or threatening Della. And there was still the question of both Godfrey and Old Walt's murder. The lawyer looked up at Drake. "We can't prove that the intruder and the caller are the same person, and even if we could, that doesn't mean that he killed Elise. Then there's the question of motive. Why would Parker do it? What's his connection? And who killed him?"

Both men's glances switched to Della.

"I told you, Perry," she said. "I blacked out but I didn't fire the gun and I didn't throw it."

Mason rubbed his eyes and threw his head toward the ceiling. "I don't even know where to begin," he groaned. He put his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his folded hands. "Okay, Paul, we're going to have to start at the beginning and pull apart strings of this web. Della and I are going to piece apart what happened at Elise's. You are going to find out everything you can about Parker. Where he came from, how long he's been here, where he's spend his time for the last few weeks."

"I can't tell you how bad I feel," Paul said to Della. "But I trusted this guy. Of course we checked into him. He's clean, Perry."

"He told Della he was an actor," Mason said. "Start there."

Paul nodded. "I didn't want to mention the elephant in the room," he said. "But you're forgetting something."

"What's that?" Della asked.

Drake opened the door that led to the hallway connecting their offices. "You. Last night a man was found shot to death in a car on a desolated road. You were the only one there. First, there's Godfrey and letters, now this. How long do you think the police are going to believe that you're just some damsel in distress who keeps finding herself in rough spots?"

"That's enough, Paul," Mason said. "You find out about Parker. I'll take care of Della." The detective shrugged and shut the door behind him.

"He's right, Chief," Della whispered. "What are we going to do now?"

Mason went to the closet and returned with his hat and Della's purse. He winced, studying her forehead and shiny black eye. She met his eyes for a few seconds, then pulled his face down to hers. He dropped the purse and the hat, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her.

She pushed him away gently. "We've got work to do," she said. She picked up his hat and handed it to him, then draped her purse over her left wrist.

"I was wrong," Perry said, opening the office door for her.

"Really?" she said. "What about?"

"When I told Paul that I'd take care of you," he said. He stopped to tell Gertie they'd return in a few hours.

"You're not going to take care of me?" she said, as he closed the front door behind them. She pressed the button for the elevator.

"No need," he said. "I'm learning you're perfectly able to look after yourself."

The elevator opened and they stepped in. "Hello, John," Perry said.

"Mr. Mason, Miss Street," the boy said. He turned his back toward them.

Della pressed up to Mason and whispered in his ear. His eyes widened, then he laughed. The elevator operator looked at them, then quickly turned his eyes back. The lift doors opened, and Perry Mason took Della's elbow and led her out of the building.


	16. Chapter 16

The officer unlocked the door of the apartment for Perry and Della. "Tragg says for me to watch you," he said. "You're not to disturb anything."

Mason smiled at the officer and he gestured for Della to go ahead of him. "Now, now, McCredie," the lawyer said, slapping the man on the arm. "Tragg knows me better than that, doesn't he?"

Della swiped her gloved fingers across the mantle. She held it up for Mason's inspection. "Quite a housekeeper," he said. "Nothing's out of place." The sofa was covered by an afghan, the sort that someone's grandmother makes over a winter. The end tables did not match the coffee table, but vases of wilted violets adorned the top of each.

"Okay," he whispered to her so the officer couldn't hear. "You go into the bedroom and bathroom. Look but don't touch."

Della nodded and headed toward the bedroom. She opened the closet door, and went through each dress. The clothes, like the furniture, were out-of-date and cheap. Each piece, however, was pressed and cared for. She moved to the small bathroom. Glancing back into the living room lest the officer was watching too closely, she opened the cabinet door. Bottles of aspirin, alcohol, and mouthwash lined the shelves. Della reached up to turn the one container not labelled. She reached to remove it when she heard Perry call. Della closed the cabinet and went back into the other room.

"Find anything?" he asked.

She held out her hand. Perry took the bottle from her, opened it, and a few small pills fell into his hand. He smelled them, frowning.

"What are they?" Della said.

"I don't know," he said, capping the bottle and sliding it to his pocket. "We'll have to find out, won't we?"

She shook her head, but said nothing as they left the apartment. Perry nodded his head to the officer, but didn't speak until they were in the lobby. He turned and looked at the building. "How did a girl like Elise afford to live here?" he said.

"You saw the place," Della said. "She conserved on everything else."

The redhead Perry had talked with the day before walked out of the office to the front desk. "I don't think so," he said, walking toward her. She looked up at him, then smiled upon recognizing him.

The girl twirled a red curl around her index finger. "I remember you," she said. "You're Old Walt's nephew." She leaned across the desk, keeping her gaze steadily on Mason. Della stepped up by him, glaring at the girl as she put her hand around the lawyer's arm. He jumped, as though startled and backed from her. "I beg your pardon, Miss," he said to Della. He studied her face for a split second. "Miss Street," he laughed. "So nice to run into you again."

Turning his face back to the receptionist, he shrugged. "I have a way of making an impression on women. Miss Street here was so pleasant to me yesterday evening when I came back here to find Uncle Walt. She contacted the police for me and then stayed with me for dinner after I heard the terrible news."

"Hello, Polly," Della said, ignoring the receptionist's stare at her black eye. She smiled at Mason. "It was no trouble. It's too bad we won't be spending any more evenings together," she sighed, reaching her foot over to step on his toes. He winced then looked at Polly, who started to speak when the phone rang. "Hold on a second," she said, moving to the desk to answer the telephone.

Mason's gaze found Della's. He nodded his head toward a stack of envelopes on the desk. She leaned forward, straining to read them, then realized what he wanted. Polly transferred the line and returned to them.

"Yeah," she said. "Sorry to hear about Old Walt. Is there anything I can do?"

Mason raised his eyebrows and smiled at the girl. "As a matter of fact, I could use a bit of assistance from you, Polly." Once more he felt Della's foot come down hard on the top of his.

Polly blushed. "I gave you my number in case you need anything while you're in town, remember?" Mason quickly moved his foot and heard Della's heel come down not an inch from it. She patted his arm to excuse herself and walked toward the door.

"I called mother this morning," Perry said. "She said that while I'm in town I might as well clear up Uncle Walt's business. I came in here today to make sure his check and records get forwarded to my cousin. Mother said he always told her that he would be leaving everything to my cousin."

Polly went into the back office and came out with a file. "Probably not supposed to do this without the manager here," she said, opening it. "But since you're family and all, I can't imagine he'd mind." She removed a form and handed it to Mason. He found the name and nodded. He smiled earnestly at Polly and returned the paper to her.

"Looks as though everything's in place," he said. "My cousin should be around within a day or so to pick up the check. You've been a doll, Polly. Thank you."

She winked at him and closed the file. "Look me up when you're in town again."

"I'm sure we'll be seeing each other soon," he said. He made his way for the door, almost colliding with a man exiting the phone booth. Mason apologized, but stared at the booth as he left the building. He squinted toward the sun, making out Della Street, who waited for him at the entrance to the garage. She turned her back to him as he approached.

"Now, Della," he said. "It was worth it."

"We'll see if you still think so tonight," she said over her shoulder. He laughed and caught her arm.

She smiled up at him. "So Elise is Old Walt's granddaughter? Is that what your performance with Polly was about?"

"It was, in fact," he said, getting his keys from his pocket. "No thanks to you. What were you trying to do, cripple me? And how did you know that Elise is the mystery granddaughter?" He opened her door.

"The violets," she said.

He crossed to the other side of the car. As he started the machine, he let out a sigh on a low note. The midday traffic had picked up, and Perry needed to get back to the office fast. "I'll tell you something you don't know," he said, quickly glancing over Della before pulling out onto the road. "Elise's name wasn't listed as Old Walt's beneficiary. Godfrey's is."

"What does that mean for us?" she said.

"It means that Godfrey's got a motive for murdering both Elise and Old Walt," he said, accelerating through a yellow light. "And that we've got our work cut out for us on this one."


	17. Chapter 17

"Your honor," Hamilton Burger bellowed through the noisy courtroom, "The people intend to prove today that the defendant, Randall Godfrey, intentionally and maliciously murdered Elise Haynes. Although it is unconventional, we will also produce evidence that links the murder of Miss Haynes to that of her grandfather, Walter Roby. We ask the jury, for the first time, to find Godfrey guilty of two counts of murder in the first degree." The barrel-chested lawyer returned to his chair, tossing Mason a smug grin before he sat down.

Mason glanced at Della's worried expression, then blew out a breath.

"Do you intend to present an opening argument, Mr. Mason?" the Judge asked.

"We would like to wait until we present our case," he said.

Judge Ross nodded his head and pointed at Burger. "The prosecution may begin."

As Burger called Tragg to the stand to testify about the condition of the body, Mason surveyed the courtroom. Roger Goldmeier, a witness for the prosecution, wore a bored expression as he twisted the ends of his moustache. Godfrey's wife, Nelda, sat two rows behind him. It's a good thing wives can't testify against their husbands, Perry thought. The thin-lipped woman made no secret of her hatred for Godfrey. He couldn't say he blamed her; if Mason hadn't taken the case as a favor for a friend, he would have refused Godfrey no less than two seconds after meeting the man.

Mason recognized Angela Hanken, Elise Haynes' closest friend, from the newspapers. The girl, almost a mirror image of Haynes, had publicly trashed both Godfrey and Goldmeier. Her gaze felt Mason's stare and turned cold green eyes to him. He nodded toward her. She steeled her jaw and looked away. Tragg finished the oath and ascended to the stand. He exchanged a confident glance with Burger, who slid his thumbs into his vest before beginning.

Della Street leaned over Godfrey to tap Mason's arm. "Perry," she whispered. "Look behind you. It's Lucy Goodland and her father."

He turned his head to see magnate and his auburn haired daughter. Surely they had been served by the district attorney's office because they knew something connected to the case. Perry kicked himself. He'd never entered a courtroom more ill prepared than he was today.

"A single shot to the left temple was the cause of death," Tragg concluded.

"Could the injury have been self-inflicted?" Burger asked.

"No," the lieutenant said. "The gun was fired no less than three feet from the victim."

Burger went to the evidence table and picked up a revolver cased in plastic. "Is this the weapon used?" He handed Tragg the gun. The lieutenant pulled it from its casing and read the tag attached.

"Yes," he said. "This is my mark on the identification label."

"Were you able to trace the owner of this gun?" Burger asked.

"We were. The serial number matches a revolver sold to Randall Godfrey."

"The defendant?"

"The defendant."

Burger glanced over at Mason, who stared out the window. The district attorney scowled before returning his attention to Tragg. "And did you find any fingerprints on the weapon?"

"We did."

"Could you identify them?"

"Yes, Mr. Burger," Tragg said. "Of course it's unusual to get prints from a gun, but we were able to clearly take an index print that perfectly matched that of Randall Godfrey."

The courtroom stirred. Mason didn't respond.

"That'll be all," Burger said, and returned to his seat.

Perry stood, tapping a pen in his palm. "Do you know which finger the print on the gun came from?"

Tragg shifted in his seat. "As I stated to Mr. Burger, it was the index finger."

"Of which hand?"

"The left."

Mason nodded his head, as though carefully considering his next question. "And were you aware, Lieutenant, that the defendant is right-handed?"

"Objection," Burger said. "The witness cannot testify to the truth of something he was just spoon fed by the defense attorney."

"Your honor," Mason protested.

"Sustained," the judge said. "Although as we are all aware, Mr. Mason, the danger in a question is not in the answer, but in the asking. I'm warning you. If you want to make the point that the defendant is right handed, you'll need to prove it."

"The defense apologizes," the lawyer said. He looked back at Tragg. "What would you say was the time of death, Lieutenant?"

Tragg pulled a notebook from his pocket and consulted it. "According to the coroner's report, Miss Haynes died no earlier than 11:30 and no later than quarter after midnight."

"And how was such a strict window determined?" Mason asked.

"For one thing the body was discovered very soon after she expired," Tragg said. "Considering body temperature as well as the contents of the stomach, we could put together a fairly close estimation of the exact time of death."

"Would you say that the window of time is closer to 11 or midnight?"

"There's a reason it's called a window," Tragg said. "But I would say from the condition of the body when we found her that the time of death was probably right around midnight."

"And how do you know when Miss Haynes consumed her last meal?"

Burger jumped up. "That will be addressed in later testimony by a witness for the prosecution, your honor."

"Does that suit you, Mr. Mason?" Judge Ross asked.

"It's all right with me," Mason said. "I guess there's nothing left for me to ask."

Burger flew to his feet. "Your honor," he demanded. "I think we can live without cute word play from Mr. Mason."

"Now, now, Mr. Burger," Judge Ross said, rolling his eyes. He pointed at Mason. "And the defense will be advised to watch his puns from now on."

"I'm finished, your honor," Mason said, tapping Burger on the chest before returning to his seat. The district attorney glared at Mason before noticing an officer enter the courtroom. He spoke with the man for a few seconds then asked the judge for a few minutes to gather the next witness.

"Mr. Mason?" the judge asked.

"The defense doesn't mind in the least," Perry said. When he sat down he leaned over to Godfrey. "What time did you get home?"

Godfrey thought for a second. "I told you before, Mr. Mason, it was about twenty after twelve. I left Elise's before midnight."

Mason leaned back in the chair and surveyed the courtroom once again. He turned back to Godfrey. "Did anyone besides your wife see you come home?"

"No," Godfrey said. "Nelda had already gone to bed."

Mason looked at the man sideways. "You told me earlier she was up when you got home."

"She was in her bedroom, but she hadn't gone to sleep. I know she heard me come in because that shack we live in has walls made of cotton. You can hear the mice sneeze. I took a shower and went straight to bed, but boy did I hear about it next morning."

"Too bad she can't testify," Della mused. "That would help us a lot."

"I wouldn't worry, Miss Street," Godfrey said, watching a large, thickened woman sit down next to his wife. The woman spotted him and snarled. "Our next door neighbor just walked in."


	18. Chapter 18

Mason smacked the table. "Why did you lie to me?"

"I didn't," Godfrey pleaded. "I swear. I left Elise's before midnight. I was at home by 12:25."

Della watched the lawyer pace around the room. The morning in court had been dismal. Godfrey's neighbor, Lorna Black, had placed him as arriving home at 12:40. According to Black, she and her husband had had stayed up late playing cards. She got up to fix them a midnight snack when she'd noticed headlights in the drive next door. She'd looked out, seen Godfrey hurrying up the walk, and glanced at the kitchen clock. The next afternoon she'd gone to visit Nelda Godfrey, and learned that Randall had been arrested for the murder of Elise Haynes.

During the afternoon session Mason would have a chance to cross-examine her, but the prospect was bleak. Black's humble countenance, coupled with a matronly note to her voice, made her the witness of a prosecutor's dreams. Jurors take her word as gospel truth, and any defense attorney who questions her looks like the creep who stole his grandma's purse. The other hitch was that she was the only witness. Nelda's testimony would be useless, and Mason wasn't sure that putting her on the stand would help, anyway.

The lawyer stared into Godfrey's eyes for several seconds, then sat down. "What about your wife?"

"No go," he said, reaching for a cigarette Mason offered. "I'm not asking her for anything. You don't know that woman like I do. She wouldn't walk across the street to help me."

"She's your wife," Della said. "You should give her a chance." Her eyes caught Perry's. He looked at Godfrey.

"No," the man said.

"Is it because you're stuck on this hen-pecked husband story, or because you know that her testimony would agree with Lorna Black's?" Mason asked.

Godfrey smoked in silence for a few seconds. "You can believe what you want. But I'm telling you what time I got home."

"All right," Mason said. "Then what about this secret of Elise's you claim to know?"

"I told you that I'm not smearing her name."

"Even if it means that you will be buying a one-way ticket to the gas chamber?" Mason asked. He sighed. "I won't reveal it in court if it's not necessary. But if you know something that will help with this case, then you should tell me. Godfrey, it's important that you trust me. What it Elise's secret?"

"Last year Elise Haynes had a baby," Godfrey said, looking at his fingers. "It was kept real quiet. Hardly anybody knew about it. She hid it until she couldn't anymore, and then went away for a while. Everyone thought she had eloped, and that the marriage went south after the honeymoon was over. She came back to the bank a few months later, and nothing was said about it. She felt awful terrible about giving up the baby, but didn't ever want to really discuss it, not even with me."

"Did Goldmeier know the truth?"

Godfrey shot a raw glance at Mason. "What do you think?"

"Did you know Elise's grandfather?"

"Yeah, that's how she got that swanky apartment. I guess they're charging me for his murder too. She loved him, and he tried to look out for her. I met him a couple times." Godfrey laughed to himself. "Everyone thought he was a crazy old coot, but he was sharp as a pin. He knew who came and went in that place. Someone'd walk by and he'd tip his hat and stumble over their name, then as soon as they got out of earshot he'd tell you all about them. What a corker."

"You've been a big help," Mason said, gathering his briefcase. "Miss Street and I are going to grab a quick lunch. Get something to eat, Randall, and we'll see you in court this afternoon."

Godfrey stood. "You aren't going to need to use what I told you about Elise, are you?"

"I don't think so," Mason said. "And I'll do my best to protect her."

The guard escorted Randall Godfrey from the room.

Della touched Perry's arm. "He's so earnest. Is it possible that his story and Lorna Black's could be true?"

"I don't know," Mason answered. "Wouldn't be the first time, I suppose." He took her elbow. "We'll get a few sandwiches on the way back to the office. I want to know what Paul found out about Parker."


	19. Chapter 19

"I think it's time for me to hang up my hat," Drake said. He sat in Mason's office, but from his posture in the chair could have easily been in his own living room listening to a game on the radio. He swung his legs from the arm of the chair to the front. "I can't believe it. One of my own guys pulls the wool over my eyes and I don't catch it."

"Don't beat yourself up, Paul," Mason said. "We don't have time to hear it. What'd you find out?"

The detective threw his legs back up on the chair and opened the notebook. "Parker's not his real name – no surprise, I'm sure – comes from New York City."

"I thought he was an old farm hand," Mason said.

Della Street poured a cup of coffee. "Come on, Perry. I could have told you that was no country boy." She smiled at him as she gave him the mug.

"What else could you tell us, Miss Marple?," the detective drawled. "Or are you afraid it'd burn our ears?"

"I would be happy to divulge, Mr. Paul Drake," she shot back. "But I wouldn't want to spoil your schoolboy innocence." She sighed and poured the detective's coffee. "Now, you know how I feel about asserting my opinion when you men are hard at work cracking the clues."

Drake tossed Mason a knowing smile.

"But I will tell you this," Della said, stirring a spoonful of sugar into the cup. "The connection between Parker and Elise begins with her murder and ends with his. He didn't know her, and he didn't know her secret."

Drake tapped his notebook on the side of Perry's desk. "So what's his motive?"

"He was hired, of course."

"I don't know, Della," the detective said. "That would make sense if he had just knocked off the girl and run. But why did he then break into your apartment? It just doesn't add up."

"It does if you need to tell two conflicting true stories at the same time," Mason said. "Someone hires Parker to kill Elise and frame Godfrey. He's already going down over the embezzlement charge and she's the star witness, so he's got a motive. Attacking Della and getting me off the case is a win-win; either I drop it, and he's at the mercy of a court appointed lawyer, or it makes me suspicious of him."

"So you're saying that two people were involved here?" Drake asked.

"Yes," Della said. "The whole time we've been assuming that the killer came to my apartment after he murdered Elise Haynes. But what if…"

"It was before," Mason concluded. He looked at his wrist. "All right, Miss Marple, time to go back to court."

Paul Drake stood up. "I haven't quite finished, Perry. I found out something else interesting about Parker."

"What's that?"

"He worked a brief stint as an independent investigator. We checked his bank records and discovered that he had a client whose name should interest you."

Mason opened the office door. "And who would that be?"

"A one Roger Goldmeier," Drake said. "According to the deposit records we got from the bank, Goldmeier's check to Parker hit the books the same day those photos of Goldmeier's wife hit the papers." Drake closed the notebook. "What do you make of that?"

Perry smiled. "I think that deserves a steak dinner on me tonight. We'll see you after court."


	20. Chapter 20

"I first want to thank you, Mrs. Black, for being here today," Mason said. The woman nodded to him in obligation.

"How would you describe your relationship to Mrs. Godfrey?"

"I guess you could say we're good friends," the woman admitted. "I've known her since we was girls. Earl and I moved in next door to them the week after we got married."

Mason looked at the unflinching Nelda Godfrey. "Do you like her, Mrs. Black?"

"Mr. Mason, I'd lay down my life for her. She's a good woman and she's put up with more than a person can reasonably be asked to."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Black?"

The woman shifted in her chair. "I just mean that life ain't been too easy on her. She's got a lot of bad breaks, but she has a good heart. That's it."

Mason walked up in front of Lorna Black and held her eyes. "Mrs. Black, would you describe her marriage to Randall Godfrey as a 'bad break'?"

"Objection," Burger shouted. "Leading question."

"Sustained."

Perry thought for a second. "All right. Mrs. Black, do you like Mr. Godfrey?"

"Same objection."

"Your honor," Mason said. "I am attempting to show bias. Mrs. Black is the sole witness to establishing what time the defendant arrived home."

Lorna Black carefully reached her hand up to the bench. "If you please, judge, I'd like to answer the question. If I may."

"Objection overruled."

The woman placed her hand over her heart. "Mr. Mason, I know you think that I'm just some plain, silly woman," she began. The lawyer noticed a few of the jurors leaning forward to hear her.

"Of course I don't," Mason said.

"Please don't interrupt me," she said, pointing at him. A wave of light laughter rippled over the gallery. Mason smiled and murmured his apologies, taking careful consideration to call her ma'am.

"My father, Louis Kelligan, was a police officer. 'The law's all we got,' he'd tell us, 'to keep the guys who got a lot and the guys who got nothing all the same.' I understand how important this is. I'll tell you right now that I don't respect Randall Godfrey anymore than a monkey's uncle. But my daddy taught me to respect the law," she said. "And he also brought me up to respect that Bible I just laid my hand on. So if I tell you I saw Mr. Godfrey comin' up that walk at 12:40 in the morning, you can bet your last dollar it's the truth."

Mrs. Black eased back into her chair. Mason held his breath, stealing a glance at the judge, who looked as though he were keeping himself from breaking into applause. The courtroom had melted, except for Nelda Godfrey, whose steel-eyed stare had neither diverted nor softened since the moment the hearing had begun. Hamilton Burger moved in his chair, congratulating himself on his imminent victory. Mason walked over to Della and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. She grabbed her purse and left the courtroom.

"Mrs. Black, please don't misunderstand. I'm not questioning your integrity at all. I'm just trying to understand exactly what happened that night. Okay?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Tell me again, from the beginning, what you saw."

"Well, Earl and I were playing cards in the den. Sometimes we like to stay up, you know. I went to the kitchen to make a few sandwiches."

"What kind of sandwiches?"

"Roast beef and swiss," she frowned. "I made the roast myself earlier in the day. I'd have kept the bone if I thought you'd be so interested."

Mason held up his hand. "Just so I can picture things clearly," he said. "Where is the kitchen in relation to the den?"

"Just behind it," Mrs. Black said. "Our house is quite narrow, and the rooms line up, you could say."

"What was Randall Godfrey wearing, Mrs. Black?"

"I can't quite say," she said. "I could tell the man had on what looked like a jacket, but I couldn't give you a color or anything like that. It was dark."

"Of course," Mason said, folding his hands in front of him. "How did you know it was Randall Godfrey?"

"Because I know how that weasel walks," she said. "I've been watching him sneak home late at night for several years now."

Mason let the laughter in the courtroom fade before continuing. "Fair enough, Mrs. Black. Now let's go back to you standing in your kitchen. Did you turn on the light when you went into the room?"

"No," she said.

"Why not?" Mason asked.

"There was enough light that shone in from the den so I could see fine," she said. "Plus, the kitchen window faces the street. I feel funny at night thinking that people could see in."

"But you saw out, didn't you Mrs. Black? You peered out and saw Randall Godfrey?"

"I've said so many times," she said, pursing her lips. Mason smiled again, hoping he hadn't tread too fast and caused her to clam up. He sauntered up to the witness box and leaned against it.

"That's the part of your story I just can't seem to picture," he said. "If there was enough light from the den that you didn't need to turn on a lamp to slice cold roast, then how could you possibly have seen outside the window?"

Lorna Black's face fell. "I don't understand, Mr. Mason."

"Mrs. Black," he said. "You identified Randall Godfrey as entering his home at 12:40. I don't doubt at all the time you've reported. I don't even doubt that maybe you saw a figure walking around. What I do doubt is that you, standing in a lit kitchen looking out a window, could make any sort of reasonable identification of a person in the darkness outside." He thumped the railing in front of the woman as Hamilton Burger rose to object.

"No further questions," Mason said, breezing by Burger to his chair. Della re-entered the courtroom, handed Mason a folded piece of paper, and took her seat.


	21. Chapter 21

Roger Goldmeier yawned a bored oath then ascended the witness stand as though he were to be knighted. Burger rolled his eyes, but focused on the businessman.

"Mr. Goldmeier, in what context did you know Elise Haynes?"

"Miss Haynes was my personal secretary," Goldmeier said. "She was a fine employee and I admired her work."

The members of the courtroom scurried, unsettled by the understatement of the relationship. The gossip rags spewed tales of Goldmeier's involvement with his secretary, and the latest column had focused on the supposedly lurid triangle composed of Haynes, her boss, and Randall Godfrey. The judge's gavel silenced the audience.

"Thank you," Burger said before returning his attention to Goldmeier. "You have been asked to appear here today to testify about a telephone call that was made from Elise Haynes' apartment the night of her murder. According to records obtained through the telephone company, Miss Haynes dialled your number at 11:50 p.m. and the call lasted three minutes and twelve seconds."

Goldmeier pushed back a cuticle. "Yes, she did call me."

"Would you tell us the nature of the call?"

"I had let her go that day, Mr. Burger, after I discovered that she and Godfrey were working together to steal money from my bank. Miss Haynes called me to explain that she was being blackmailed by Godfrey, and wished to turn herself, as well as Godfrey, in to the authorities. I told her that I admired her courage, and would do all I could to support her in the matter. Nevertheless, I could not simply forgive the debt. Miss Haynes said that she understood, and the discussion ended."

"So Elise Haynes had confronted Randall Godfrey about going to the police?"

Mason objected. "Mr. Burger knows perfectly well that while the witness can testify to his conversation with Miss Haynes, he cannot provide hearsay concerning an exchange she may or may not have had with the defendant."

Burger tried to interject, but stopped at the judge's warning stare. "But it is true, Mr. Goldmeier, that Elise Haynes confessed to you that both she and Randall Godfrey were in on the theft of nearly $10,000?"

Goldmeier's waxed moustache twitched. "Yes," he said. "She did."

"No further questions," Burger said.

Judge Ross consulted his watch and regarded Mason. "Will this be a lengthy cross examination, Mason? If so, I'll adjourn and we can continue tomorrow morning."

Mason stood and buttoned his jacket. He'd like the time before he had to question Goldmeier, but didn't want that final image to remain in the jurors' minds overnight. "I don't expect it to take long, your honor. I would like to begin now."

"Very well."

"Mr. Goldmeier, are you familiar with a man named Allan Parker?"

Burger's pencil flew out of his hand. "Objection," he shouted. "Incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial. Defense must limit himself to what was covered in my examination."

"My apologies," Mason murmured, noticing that Goldmeier appeared unaffected by the mention of Parker's name. The lawyer's eyes scanned the courtroom before resting on the District Attorney. "I thought for sure I heard you say it, Mr. Burger. No further questions, but I do request that this witness be available to testify when the defense presents its case."

"Granted," Judge Ross said. "Court is adjourned until ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

Della caught Mason's arm as they left the courtroom. "Why did you do that?" she said. "You looked as though you'd lost your mind." They pushed through the lines of reporters fighting for pay phones.

"The danger in the question is in the asking, not the answering, Della," Mason said. He led her out of the side door of the building. "There are a lot of people in that room who heard the question. Now, all we have to do is put you in a little danger, and I think we'll have our murderer revealed."


	22. Chapter 22

"Well?" Della Street said as Perry opened the office door for her.

"Well, what?"

She took off her coat and hung it up. "I didn't say anything during dinner. And neither did you, coincidentally, but don't you think it's time to let me in on the plan?"

Mason walked through the offices to his desk. He picked up the folder Paul had left on the desk earlier in the day. "Della," he said. "Sit down. We're going to have quite a night right here."

"Doing what?"

"Waiting for them to come to us." He flipped through the folder and tossed it down on the desk. He loosened his tie, stretched out on the sofa, and beckoned her to settle in his arms. She laughed, pretending to weigh her choices, then cuddled up to him. "Who do you think is our first contestant?"

"If I had to pick," he said. "I would say that the next person to open that door will be Lieutenant Tragg, wanting to talk with you. He's been waiting for just the right time, and I gave it to him today in court."

"When you asked Goldmeier if he knew Parker," Della said. "Burger wanted to avoid bringing his murder into the ring. He hoped we wouldn't want to mention it, either. But now that we have…" Perry's office door opened and Lieutenant Tragg appeared.

"You know I am a man of manners," the officer said. "But I also hate to waste the tax payers' money waiting around and giving people time to be too busy to talk."

Mason patted Della's shoulder, then stood up. He walked over and grabbed a cigarette, offering one to Tragg. He shook his head. "Isn't a social call, Counselor. I've come here to talk to your secretary. Burger's extended the patience line as far as we can."

"We've been expecting you," Perry said.

"I'll bet you have. I'm going to have to ask Della to come down to the station with me. You, of course, will be acting as her lawyer, I take it?"

Mason exhaled smoke. "You may take it. And you may take her. Della, I want you to answer any question Tragg asks you about this case."

"What are you saying?" Della flew off the sofa toward him.

He touched her cheek, his eyes flashing as he winked. "Tragg, I'm going to trust you with the best secretary I know. Don't let her out of your sight. I'll be down to the station to get her in a few hours."

Della took the officer's arm. "Then it's a date," she smiled. "Shall we go?"

He looked from her to Mason and back, mostly irritated, somewhat envious. The lawyer was as easy to read as ancient Greek, but when Della Street started flirting Tragg knew he was in trouble. He'd wanted to take her in the day after the wreck, but Burger hadn't let him. They knew there had to be a connection to the Godfrey case, and Burger had his fill of Mason's habit of throwing in extra pieces of evidence to obfuscate the case. "Another body," the district attorney had advised him, "would give Mason fuel for his greatest courtroom pyrotechnic event yet." Tragg shook his head as Della led him to the elevator. He couldn't help but to chuckle. Burger usually ended up holding the bag on these sorts of schemes, and he had a bad feeling about this one.

Perry watched them go, hating to see the door shut behind Della. She wasn't any safer now than she had been with Parker, as far as someone wanting her out of the picture. But he trusted Tragg, and even Burger, and knew they weren't stupid. They had to know Parker's connection, which is why they delayed questioning Della. He put out the cigarette and leaned against the desk. He wondered if they knew why Loren and Lucy Goodland had been in court that day, or if they were aware of Elise's secret, or had leads on Old Walt's murder. He looked at his watch. Paul should be back any second now. The detective had told him that they hadn't been able to figure anything out about how Parker was killed, or where the murderer had fled. Perry rubbed his temples, his head spinning with all the unanswered questions. He hoped they wouldn't keep Della long; it'd ruin his plans for figuring out who in that court room would react to hearing Allan Parker's name.

He heard the outer office door open again. Maybe it was Della, pretending to have left her hat in order to get a moment to speak with him. He hurried to the office, but stopped when he saw who was standing in the office.

"May I help you?" he asked. Lucy Goodland's face ashen face twisted grotesquely as her knees cracked on the floor. Perry bent over her, shouting her name. Her marbled eyes struggled to focus on his face. She opened her mouth, a film of blood passing over her teeth, and choked. "Roger is," she managed, blood trickling down her chin. She reached up to Mason's collar to pull his face closer to hers. "Father," she said. She tried to continue, but no words came out. Perry Mason held her to him, feeling the drop of her body as she turned to dead weight.


	23. Chapter 23

He let her body rest on the floor, then went to Gertie's desk to use the phone. Jerry picked up at the front desk. Yes, Miss Street and the Lieutenant had just walked out the door. No, they weren't out of the lot yet.

"Run after them, Jerry," Mason said. "Tell Tragg he'll just be called right back anyway." The lawyer set the phone back on the receiver and studied the young woman's still form. He wasn't sure exactly where the wound was, or what caused it. He wanted to know before Tragg arrived, but knew better than to disturb the body. Mason picked up the right arm, leaning the body to the side to see if the blood had pooled underneath. The girl's wrist was still warm, the tick of her watch sounding like church bells in the silent office. He couldn't risk shifting the body, and so let it rest.

Paul Drake bounded in the door. "Perry, I just heard that Tragg's got Della." He noticed the body. "Who's that?"

"Lucy Goodland," he said, standing. "What'd you find out?"

"Something that might explain Lucy Goodland's untimely demise," Drake said. "You called the police yet?"

Perry took the papers Paul held out and tucked them into his jacket pocket. "Of course," he said. "Tragg should be coming back up here any second." His fingers glanced across a paper, and he frowned before remembering and chuckling to himself. It was the 'message' Della had given him in the courtroom earlier that afternoon when he'd been in a bind. Still their best courtroom trick to stall for time, and he'd forgotten to tell Della that her breathless re-entry was the finest acting job he'd seen out of her. He pulled the scrap of paper out and opened it.

Drake smiled. "Let me guess. You ran into a snag in court and pulled the old stall-while-Della-runs-an-errand gag. What'd she write on it this time?"

Mason read the neat handwriting to himself, shook his head and laughed. "Listen to this, Paul," he said, but the detective tapped him on the shoulder and nodded his head toward the door.

"That's the elevator," Perry said, tucking the paper back into his jacket pocket. "Here we go."

Tragg didn't knock, to no one's surprise. His eyes widened when he spotted the body on the floor. "I'll say, Mason. I'm flattered. I didn't know you'd go to such extremes to keep me from leaving the building."

"Where's Della?" the lawyer asked.

"I sent her on with an officer. No need for her to stick around here," Tragg said. Mason could see the shock that Tragg tried to hide. He had believed the call to be a fake, but should have known better. He saw the concern in the lawyer's eyes, and had a momentary softening for him. It was true that Perry Mason was the bull's eye on every dartboard of the Los Angeles Police Department, but they all knew it was out of jealousy rather than animosity. "What happened here?"

Mason lit a cigarette. "The dame dropped in just after you left."

All goodwill towards the lawyer faded from Tragg's mind in an instant. "Funny," he said, crossing to the telephone to call for the homicide unit.

Perry Mason waited until the lieutenant had hung up and was kneeling next to the body before he began. "Her name's Lucy Goodland," he said. "Roger Goldmeier's ex-wife. She was in the gallery of the Godfrey trial today."

"Why?" Tragg asked.

"I was hoping you and Burger would know that," Mason said. "She and her father were in there." He exchanged glances with Drake. "We know that Goldmeier hired Allan Parker to spy on Lucy while they were married. It cost her father quite a bit to keep the sordid details out of the papers. I couldn't put together the connection to Godfrey, though."

Tragg stood and wrung his hands. "You scratch our back, we'll scratch yours. Lucy was there because the prosecution subpoenaed Loren Goodland. Elise Haynes worked for him before Goldmeier hired her, and we know that she kept in contact with her old boss; a sort of father figure to help her out. When Goodland heard about her murder, he went to Burger."

Mason's eyes sparked. "That's all you know?"

"That's all I'm telling."

"Still doesn't explain why someone would be after Lucy Goodland." The homicide team entered the office, taking direction from Tragg.

Drake cleared his throat. "Perry, don't you think that you should be getting down to the station with Della?"

The lawyer caught his eye, then turned to the lieutenant. "Is it necessary for us to stay here? I'd like to be with Della when she's being questioned."

"A sudden change of mind," Tragg said, narrowing his eyes at the two men. "Lock the door and I'll make sure it's closed when we're done." Mason thanked him, motioning for Drake to follow him out of the office.

"Okay, Paul," he said when the front door of the Brent Building had closed behind them. "What's the scoop?"

"It's a big one," Drake said. "I took a trip out to where the accident was, and dropped by the nearby café that Lucy Goodland owned. I interviewed every employee I could find, including the lady who matched Jerry's description of the one he told about the accident."

Perry unlocked the passenger door of his car. "What'd you find out?"

"Lucy Goodland was there that evening, but left for about twenty minutes right about the time of the accident. She didn't tell anyone where she went, she wasn't gone long enough to pick up supplies or any other sort of usual errand. But she would have had plenty of time to get to the scene of the accident and back. She's got a few motives for knocking off Parker, she knows the area, and she had no alibi."

Mason listened, frowning. "That doesn't make her guilty of murder, Paul."

"One more thing," the detective said. "The gun used to kill Parker was traced back to Loren Goodland. I made a call to his office. At the time of the accident he was in a meeting, and he'd reported that gun missing five days ago."

"So why kill her?" Mason asked, but Drake knew the question was almost rhetorical. Perry drove in silence, his mind was formulating a series of scenarios. If Haynes was as close to the Goodlands as Tragg had led on, then surely Lucy knew Elise's secret. She also had first hand experience of the depths to which Roger Goldmeier would sink for a dollar. Mason's memory flashed again the faces who had been at the trial that day. If he was right, the murderer was getting desperate. In order to test just how desperate, he'd have to take a risk. Step one included getting Della Street released as soon as possible. 

He drove a little while longer, then slammed on the brakes, sending a daydreaming Paul Drake crashing into the dashboard. "Jiminey Christmas," the detective yelled. "I was smoking this cigarette. I didn't intend to eat it."

"How the devil did Lucy Goodland's gun get there?" Mason asked. "Della took the gun I leave in my desk." A horn blared behind him. Perry waved into the rear view mirror, stepping on the gas.

Drake let out a low whistle and shrugged. "I forgot about that," he said. "Did she take the gun with her when she left the scene?"

"No."

"Then where's the gun? Don't tell me that your theory is that the murderer just happened to come on the accident, just happened to have Goodland's gun, just happened to see your gun, then just happened to pick it up and go on his way? Perry, that doesn't make sense at all."

The car slowed to park in front of the police station. Mason rubbed his chin as he turned off the ignition. Paul was right. Parker's murder couldn't have been a coincidence, but it was just as unlikely that it was planned. If Lucy Goodland had killed Parker, she wouldn't have thrown the gun a few feet from the car. If someone else did it, then the frame was as sad as the one in Della's apartment that attempted to make Godfrey look like a live-in lover. The lawyer tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, feeling Drake's curious stare. Unless, Perry thought. He turned to Paul. "I think I've got it," he said. "I don't think the murderer brought Goodland's gun to the scene. Listen, it's been a long day. Why don't you call up one of your blonde apparitions and take her dancing? I'll call you if we need you."

"Are you sure, Perry?"

"I think so. Thanks, Paul. Talk to you tomorrow. Right now I just want to get Della. The quicker she's out of there and with me, the clearer I'll be able to think."


	24. Chapter 24

"You know, Della, at the end of the day Burger's a pretty nice guy," Perry Mason said as his secretary slid into the passenger seat of the car. He closed the door after her and crossed to the other side of the car. As he opened the door he noticed a blue sedan parked across the street, which had been there since he and Drake had arrived at the station. The evening sun prevented him from seeing anything of the driver. He looked away, pretending he hadn't noticed the car, and unlocked his driver's side door.

"Don't look now," he said. "But I think I may have picked up a tail."

"Or I did," she said. "Someone should write a book about us, Perry. We never lack for adventure."

He chuckled, his stomach tightening exactly the way it had the night he'd dropped Della off at her apartment over a week ago. Strange, he thought, how long ago that seemed, and yet sometimes it felt as though the case were just beginning. He looked over at Della, who rested her head back against the seat as she absently watched the people on the sidewalk blur by. They'd never been closer, after spending practically every minute together since her accident with Parker. He turned his attention back to the road and relaxed his forehead. He didn't realize it had become furrowed, but he knew why it had. Soon the case would be over and there would be no reason why he shouldn't return to his apartment alone at the end of the day.

"What's wrong?" she asked, slightly smiling. She reached over and rubbed his arm. Of course she knew, but she liked to keep the secret that the great and powerful Perry Mason was as transparent to her as a window pane. For the past three evenings he'd become reticent, like a visitor from home who knows that there's only a few more days until the good-bye.

He shrugged, placing his hand over hers and patting it three times. "Nothing." He looked into the rearview mirror. "I guess I was a little jumpy. The car that I thought was following us turned off."

She slid over next to him. "So, that just leaves us to figure out what to do with ourselves for the rest of the evening."

"Della, do you think that you would be all right tonight in your apartment by yourself?"

"Well, yes, Perry, of course," she said, and returned to her side of the car. She waited a few seconds. "Where should we eat?"

"I'm kind of tired," he said. "If you don't mind I'll just drop you off and then pick up something on the way home."

Her voice hit an odd pitch. "Sure. Sounds great. I'm beat myself."

They rode in a tense silence until they reached her building. He slowed the car to a stop, then pretend punched her cheek. "Off you go," he said. "See you tomorrow morning."

"Perry," she struggled to keep her voice level. "Is something bothering you?"

"Me? No. Why do you ask?"

Her cheeks reddened as she flung the door open. "No reason. Good-night." She jumped out of the car and slammed the door shut. In her march to the entrance she dropped her keys. He didn't even wait for her to pick them up before he drove off. Della found the key that opened the front door and turned it. She didn't want to go to her apartment; it would be the first time she'd been in there alone since Parker had attacked her the night of Elise's murder. Her footsteps echoed on the tile of the lobby.

As she reached the steps, she noticed Polly coming out of the office to the reception desk. Della looked at her watch. The girl had just started working there a few months ago, and never stayed past 5. "What are you still doing here, Polly?" she yelled.

The redhead looked up. "Hello, Miss Street," she said. "Earl's been covering the night shift but he's off tonight. By the way, I saw Old Walt's nephew drop you off. You sure been spending a lot of time with him."

Della rolled her eyes and started toward the desk. "He's not Old Walt's nephew. That's Perry Mason. I work for him."

"The Perry Mason?" the girl asked. "Isn't he a famous detective or something?"

"He likes to think so, yes." Della pointed at the headline of the evening newspaper on the desk. "He's defending Randall Godfrey. Have you been reading about it?"

Polly picked up the paper. "Who hasn't?"

"Did you ever talk to Elise Haynes?" Della asked. "I didn't even know she lived here."

"Oh, yeah," Polly said. "I mean, I never actually talked with her, but she always had some sort of visitor or another."

Della crossed her arms on the counter. "Men?"

"A few," Polly said. "Two older guys, I got the feeling one was her father, but of course it couldn't have been. And a young one. Boy, was he a good-looking fellow. I think he was probably her boyfriend. She had a friend, too, maybe her sister or something. The girl looked a lot like her. One time I thought it was Miss Haynes and called out to tell her a package had been delivered for her. When she turned around I could tell it wasn't the right person."

"What about on the day of the murder?" Della asked. "Did you notice anyone then?"

Polly twisted a curl around her index finger and thought. "The guy who I thought was her father came here about three," she said. "I remember because he came in with a suitcase, but left without it. I thought to myself that maybe he wasn't her father after all, but then I told myself to mind my own business."

"What did he look like?"

"He reminds me a bit of Mickey Mouse," Polly said. "Short and skinny with a big head and ears. He's a nice guy. There was a woman here in the lobby who was upset, pacing back and forth and wringing her hands. I guess she was waiting for someone. I saw him stop and talk to her for a few seconds, then he went on."

The description fit Loren Goodland like a worn shoe. It wouldn't have been unconventional, she thought, that Goodland had visited the girl he'd thought of as a daughter for years. But Perry should know about it before they went back to court. "What did she do then, Polly?"

"I don't exactly know. I went into the office and when I came back out she was gone."

"Can you tell me what she looked like?"

"Sort of plain, I'd say, pretty young. I didn't pay much attention to her. Say, Miss Street. Do you think I should have told the police about that?"

Della burst out a laugh. "You didn't?"

"They didn't ask me. They treated me like a dumb girl, so I answered their questions and left it at that. Was that wrong?"

"No, not really," Della said. "But they underestimated you, Polly. I'm going to make a quick call." She darted to the phone booth and was connected to Perry's line. She looked at her watch, listening to the ringing. He had said he was planning to stop to get supper, which would have delayed him. Della hung up the phone, still not mustering the courage to go upstairs to her empty apartment.

"Have you had supper, Polly?" she asked. "I don't feel like going up and eating alone. I'd be glad to pick you up a sandwich across the street."

"Sure, Miss Street," the girl said. "That would be swell." Della went to the deli and returned with two ham sandwiches, which were eaten over a conversation about who was the most handsome man in the pictures. Della crumpled up the thick white paper her sandwich had been wrapped in and checked her watch. An hour was more than enough time for Perry to get home. She went to the phone and rang him again.

Each ring lasted longer in Della's mind. After the seventh she hung up and tried the office, but the night receptionist told her that Mr. Mason had neither been up to the office nor had he phoned in. Della imagined walking in tomorrow morning, throwing her arms around him and then slapping him for scaring her. She picked up her purse and thanked Polly, then walked for the stairs. Why couldn't Perry just be a normal man, she thought. The kind who bring you flowers and tell you how wonderful you are. Being with him was like riding a roller coaster at midnight. Part of the fun was not being able to see what lies ahead, but she never knew when a drop was coming, either. She stood in front of her apartment door before unlocking it and throwing it open. Her hand crept along the wall to turn on the light, then she went in and secured the deadbolt behind her.

She sat down on the sofa to study the pictures on the wall. A steely silence pervaded the apartment, making what was familiar seem to belong to someone else. She felt that uneasiness, that she didn't belong here and whoever did would be returning soon. She wanted to go anywhere else, but there was nowhere. This was her home, and a dark terror remained that she'd never be able to sleep here again. It was only nine-thirty, but the hours until dawn stretched before her like a long desert road in a photograph she'd seen, white ribbon without end. The past week had been all right, because he'd stayed here with her or she'd gone with him. But now, in the darkness lit by a single light bulb, knowing that she was most likely safe but remembering too that the case wasn't finished, Della Street didn't know how she'd get herself to turn out the light and go to bed. She didn't even know if she could make it down the dark hallway to the bedroom. And this time, her mind told her twisting stomach, Perry wasn't going to be at home if she needed to call him.


	25. Chapter 25

She remained on the sofa, listening to the silence, for thirty-two minutes. Then she stood, brushed her hands down her skirt, and stepped to the entrance to the hallway that led to the bathroom and the bedroom. Her foot extended, then retreated. It was only ten feet that she needed to walk to reach the switch to turn on the light. She laughed, almost nervously, but honestly as well. Her smiled faded when she remembered the last time she'd found her fear ridiculous. The ghost of his hand on her shoulder touched her and she jumped, returning to the sofa.

The imprint of her front teeth dented her knuckle. It was a nervous habit she'd had since childhood. She decided to try a game that worked when she was a little girl and she had to do something she didn't want to. On the count of three she would simply run down the hall and it would all be over and she would see that there was nothing in the dark. She counted to herself four times and remained still. The cold fear had sparked a typical reaction; one that hadn't been helped by her choice to drink two cups of coffee with her supper. She annoyed herself and marched to the hallway. I'm going to do it, she announced to the darkness. But then the telephone rang.

Della couldn't make herself answer. What if it was the voice again? What if he knew she was here, alone, and what if he knew that Perry wasn't here? Her fingers found the receiver and it continued to ring. Six, seven, eight, nine. Then silence. Probably just Aunt Mae, wondering how she was but knowing that while she and Perry were working on a case she was never home.

The hallway loomed longer that it had been thirty seconds ago. Della took a deep breath, and lunged as though she were at the starting line of a sprint. One. Two. The telephone sounded again. She let it ring four times and then answered.

"Della," Perry's voice whispered. "Do not answer the door."

The door buzzer sounded.

"Where are you?" she whispered. A fist began pounding.

"Grab anything you can get your hands on that you could use for a weapon," he said. The line clicked. Again the doorbell rang, longer, more impatient. Della backed from it, glancing down the hall again, her mind imagining what could come from the darkness toward her, forcing her into a corner.

She crept to the door and pressed her eye to the peek hole, but saw black. A hand had it covered. The sensation of the flesh a mere inches from her face raised goosebumps on her arms. Feeling the person on the other side, she reached for the crystal vase that sat on the telephone table. The ends of the stems left fat drops on the table, and Della let the water spill onto the floor. She reached to turn the knob, but didn't.

Perry had to be in the building, she knew. She wondered if she should call the police. If he'd wanted her to, though, he would have told her to. He had disconnected suddenly, and perhaps he was in trouble. Her buzzer sounded again, followed by slow knocking, almost a toll. Whoever was on the other side wouldn't continue to ask, it said. She felt hypnotized, as though she were already dead and didn't yet realize it. Where was Perry? Della picked up the phone to dial the police when a gunshot sounded in the corridor. She dropped the receiver and rushed to the door, sliding back the deadbolt and throwing it open.

Nelda Godfrey stood in the middle of the hall, pointing a gun at Perry Mason. She turned it to Della. "Don't move a muscle," she said, her teeth clenched so tightly that Della wondered if the woman had been the one to speak. She backed up and alternated her aim between the lawyer and Della.

"I told you to stay in there," Perry said.

Della rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, Perry, I know you're close, I hear a gunshot, and you think I'm just going to wait for the coroner to let me know how things turn out?"

"Be quiet, both of you," the woman said clearly. "Get into the apartment now." Della froze, and turned toward the voice. A gravelled tenor that she would never forget. She'd assumed it was a man's, but hearing it come from the withered, thickened woman it didn't seem out of place. It was the one she'd heard in her ear the night of the attack, and then again on the phone in the office the next day.

Perry looked at Della and nodded. "All right, Mrs. Godfrey," he said. "Put down the gun and we'll talk."

"Just get in there," she said. The barrel of the gun followed them into the apartment. "Sit," the woman ordered.

"May I offer you a drink?" Della asked, smiling. Perry kept himself from grinning. She always knew just what to say. The cordial offer clearly surprised Nelda Godfrey, who looked almost childlike holding the gun at them, both hands clutching it. She'd clearly not had much experience shooting, as the bullet hole over the stairway exit could attest.

"Come now, Mrs. Godfrey," Perry began. "We all know you're not going to shoot us. If you'd really wanted to kill Della you would have last week when you were here."

"I don't know what you mean," she said, the gun lowering slightly.

He stood and took a step toward her, but halted when the gun perked up again. Instead he pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit it. "Of course I didn't suspect you at first. But you made a few mistakes, Mrs. Godfrey. The first was having your neighbor lie for you. The second was killing Lucy Goodland." He exhaled three smoke rings then extinguished the cigarette. "Do you read much Agatha Christie?"

"Some," Nelda Godfrey said.

Perry nodded toward his secretary. "We were talking about Miss Marple this afternoon, Della and I, when I remembered something elementary I learned from one of those novels."

Nelda Godfrey's face wrinkled in confusion.

"And that," Perry continued, "is that people caught up in murders who don't really want to be murderers keep killing to cover their tracks. Soon they stop thinking clearly and trip up." He bore into her eyes. "I don't think you want to be a murderer, Mrs. Godfrey. I don't think you intended for Elise Haynes to die, did you?"

Tears welled up in her eyes. "I didn't kill that girl," she spat.

"But you know who did," he said. "The plan was to scare Elise and get me off your husband's defense for embezzlement. You both knew she was going to tell Goldmeier the truth, didn't you? That was all, wasn't it, Mrs. Godfrey? But that's not how it happened. And when you found out that you'd been double crossed, you got desperate, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're saying," she cried. "It was me in here that night, Mr. Mason. But I didn't kill Elise."

"You killed Parker, though, didn't you? And Old Walt? Then when Lucy Goodland put it all together you had to kill her, too."

She raised the gun until it pointed at his forehead. Her hands shook as her eyes lit. Della started toward him, and grabbed his arm. Nelda Godfrey no longer cowered, but seemed to grow taller. "If only you'd have listened," she said to Della Street. "I didn't want to have to do this, Mr. Mason. But you've given me no choice."

Perry lunged toward her as the gun fired. Della Street screamed and fell to the ground. An instant later Paul Drake, followed by Lieutenant Tragg and another officer, burst through the front door. Nelda Godfrey dropped the gun, burying her face in her hands as she realized she had been caught.

Drake helped Mason to his feet. "Got here just in time," he said.

The lawyer scowled at him, wrapping his arm around Della's waist as she stood. "Sure," Perry said. "Next time do you think you could make it _before_ we get shot at?"


	26. Chapter 26

The next morning Mason's eye caught Tragg's as the bailiff called the courtroom to order. The two men nodded to each other, sitting down on opposite sides of the divide but unbeknownst to the rest of the people watching, were there to uncover the same thing. Mason turned to Godfrey, disliking him as much as always, but sorry for what the close of the trial would reveal to him.

Hamilton Burger stood and approached the bench. "The prosecution rests, Your Honor." The judge nodded and asked Mason if the defence was ready.

"We are," Mason said.

"In that case, Mr. Mason, call your first witness."

"We call Loren Goodland."

The old man had aged overnight. Tragg said that the news of Lucy's death had sent him into a silent shock lasting several minutes, then he'd fallen into inconsolable sobbing. Mason felt a quick twinge of sympathy for the man. Goodland's voice was barely audible as the bailiff swore him in.

The lawyer cleared his throat. "I want you to know, Mr. Goodland, that you have our deepest sympathies. I appreciate your appearing in court today. Your testimony is crucial to uncovering who actually killed Elise Haynes."

Burger stood in objection.

"You knew Elise Haynes well, didn't you?" Mason said.

"Yes. Elise worked for me, and grew close to our family. I thought of her as a daughter."

"So she confided in you?"

Goodland covered his mouth. "She did."

Mason glanced back at Godfrey. "Are you familiar with Roger Goldmeier, Mr. Goodland?"

The judge glanced at Burger, expecting an objection, but remained silent when the prosecutor said nothing.

"Yes," Goodland said. "He was married to my Lucy. They divorced a while ago."

"Was it an amicable separation?" Mason asked.

The judge frowned at Burger. "I don't want to do the District Attorney's job for him," he said, "but I do have to say that I am surprised the prosecution has no objection to this line of questioning."

Burger stood. "We do not, Your Honor."

"Well, then," the judge said. "I feel I should warn you anyway, Mr. Mason. You will be expected to get to a more relevant subject quickly."

Mason nodded. "I assure you we will." He turned back to Goodland. "Please answer the question."

"No," Loren Goodland said. "Mr. Goldmeier had some photographs published that put Lucy in an unfavourable light."

"What happened then?"

"Well, I couldn't stand to see my daughter so humiliated. We negotiated a settlement with Mr. Goldmeier and then Lucy bought a café and started over. He crushed her."

"It must have been a surprise to you when Miss Haynes began working for him," Mason said, turning the ring he wore on his smallest finger.

Goodland shrugged. "I worried for her," he said. "But Elise did have a mind of her own. I tried to tell her about him, but she wouldn't listen to me." He smiled softly. "That's when I knew she did think of me as a father."

"And did Miss Haynes enjoy working for Mr. Goldmeier?"

"I can't say as she did," Goodland said. "I don't know."

"Did Elise ever say whether or not their relationship remained that of a professional nature?" Mason asked.

Goodland met his eyes, then looked down at his fingers. "Yes," he said. "Elise told Lucy and me that she began seeing Goldmeier privately soon after she was hired. She didn't want to tell us, I know, but circumstances arose that caused her to require help. He wouldn't take responsibility for it, and…"

"Objection," Burger shouted. "There's no evidence whatsoever, Your Honor."

The judge scowled at the D.A. "There hasn't been for some time, Mr. Burger. I'm surprised you just noticed."

Mason crossed to the defense table and sat down. "Only one more thing," he said. "Wasn't your daughter left handed, Mr. Goodland?"

Goodland nodded. "She was."

"Defense rests," Mason said. "But reserves the right to recall this witness."

"Mr. Burger?"

"No questions, Your Honor."

The judge jumped. "Are you sure?"

"Quite," said Burger.

"Your floor, Mr. Mason."

"We call Roger Goldmeier," he announced. Godfrey grabbed the lawyer's arm, but Mason pushed him away. He watched the pale-faced businessman take the stand. The sarcastic flippancy that he wore the previous day was replaced with a somber seriousness.

"Mr. Goldmeier," Mason said. "Do you know an Allan Parker?"

"I do," he said. "He worked for me."

"In what capacity?"

"A private investigator," Goldmeier said. "For a short time. I don't know, though, what this has to do with Elise Haynes."

"Nor do I," Judge Ross said. Mason looked at Burger. Maybe this wouldn't be as easy as they believed. He looked up at the flag, then to the judge, then down to Godfrey, and finally rested his eyes on Della. She languidly sketched a caricature of the judge. Mason clapped his hands together. He sighed.

"Are you through with this witness?" the judge asked, startling Perry from the sudden daydream that distracted him.

"Yes," Mason said. "In fact, I'm done with this case." He turned to the gallery of witnesses, ran his eyes over their faces, then glanced at his watch. "The way I see it," he said, "is that I know which one of you did it, and I'm tired of constructing creative ways to uncover the truth without everyone knowing who is guilty before I reach a shocking conclusion. It's a beautiful day, none of us slept much last night, and I'm ready to spend some time at the beach."

Della Street smiled to herself.

"So," Mason continued, "The guilty party can either stand up, get the confession out of the way now, or we can spend another three days chipping away at the story until you break down and have to be escorted, screaming and crying like a Bedlam escapee, from the courtroom."

The judge banged his gavel. "Mr. Mason," he shouted. He started to lecture the lawyer when Loren Goodland stood up.

"I knew you knew," the old man whispered. "When you reserved the right to call me again. You're right, Mr. Mason. I am guilty, and I'm tired, too. Let's just get it over with." He held his arms out to the bailiff, who looked around for several seconds before cuffing the man. Burger closed his folder. The judge started to speak, then banged his gavel. "Court dismissed," he muttered, gathering his papers and hurrying from the bench.

Godfrey stood to shake Mason's hand, but the lawyer pushed him aside and reached for Della. "Ready to go?" he asked.

She closed her eyes. "You can't imagine," she breathed.


	27. Chapter 27

She looked at him for a long time. The muscle in his jaw, right below his ear, was tense. She smiled to the sky then kept looking at him. His eyes darted to her, then back to the road, then he turned his head.

"May I help you with something, ma'am?" he asked.

"Are we or aren't we?" she said. He smirked.

"I'm sure we'll have to," he said.

"Well?"

"But not now." He reached over to her knee. "By the way, the first time you were explaining how you and Parker were seated in his car I didn't quite understand. Do you think you could show me again?"

She laughed. "You know I was exaggerating."

"I know," he said. "A boy like that wouldn't have had a prayer with you."

She looked back out onto the white ribbon of a road that fluttered in the moonlight, remembering her fear from the night before, when she was alone and didn't know he was right there with her. Last night was like the road, stretching on forever without end, but what gripped her stomach then lightened her heart this evening. A night with no morning in sight. She studied him again.

He felt her eyes and looked off to his left, afraid that she would see him blush. He was nervous, and he knew that she could tell. "Well?"

"Yes?" she said. "How about now?"

"Not now," he said. "You remind me of a child waiting for the circus to begin."

"When?" she said.

"I don't know. I just don't feel like it now."

"You'll tell me tomorrow how you knew?" she asked.

"Maybe," he said.

She scooted over to him and traced her right big toe up his ankle. "Only if I'm good?" she whispered into his neck, right below the muscle that tightened when he was nervous. The car swerved onto the shoulder then back to the road. "Very funny," she laughed. She noticed he didn't relax. They were almost there.

He slowed the car, and turned right onto a side road. She raised her head. He had switched off the headlights, the moon lining the side of the graveled pavement just enough to keep the car from the ditch. The car crept, losing speed, until it stopped completely.

"I don't know how to say this," he said, the way he always did when he was going to talk for a while. She moved away from him, but he didn't look at her. He kept his eyes focused on the moonlight ahead, his profile cut from the black sky like the silhouette portrait her grandmother made of her when she was six.

"I want you," she said, interrupting him before he began.

He jumped, then let himself look at her. "I can't believe you just said that."

"I can't believe you won't," she replied. "This isn't hard, Perry."

"Since that first night, in your apartment, we've stayed together," he explained. "And there was the night at the beach."

"Yes, I do remember that much," she said.

"But we've kept a sense of respectability about the whole thing," he said.

She pursed her lips. "Barely."

"It's just that I don't want anything to change," he said, turning from her and resting his chin in his hand. "But at the same time I don't want to stay the way we have been."

"Apart?"

"Exactly." They didn't look at each other for several seconds. He thought that maybe he should turn the car around. It wasn't going as planned. He reached into his front pocket for a cigarette and his fingers felt the note. He pulled it out with the packet and opened it at her. "This was funny. Your best yet. I didn't know you knew Lear, but you always surprise me. It's ironic, too, considering the outcome. Did you know then?"

She shrugged away from him. "Of course I didn't. The line came to mind when I was out in the hall. It just seemed amusing then. I was hungry."

"Follow me," he read to her, even though she was the one who wrote it on the paper. "Thou shalt serve me, if I like thee no worse after dinner. I will not part from thee yet." He chuckled, but she still wouldn't face him, so he reached over and gently made her look at him. She closed her eyes as he let his hand stretched out over the side of her face. His thumb stroked her cheek, then down to her lips, before falling to her collarbone.

He took in a breath. They should talk about it; what would happen if what might happen tonight did happen.

She moved toward him, which surprised him, then she crawled onto his lap, pulling his face up to hers and kissing him. He leaned back against the seat, a few seconds later trying to stop in order to have the serious talk. But she had almost finished unbuttoning his shirt, and so he forgot what it was he wanted to say. She felt the muscle in his jaw finally relent and tasted the ocean on his skin.

"I know how to say it now," he whispered.

She stopped and moved her eyes in front of his. "How to say what?"

"What I was trying to say earlier. When we first stopped."

"And?"

"You're all I ever wanted, Della. That's it. That's all I needed to tell you." Then he kissed her again.

After a few seconds she pulled away. "And remember you promised that tomorrow you'll explain to me how you knew it was Goodland."

He slid his hand up and down the side of her leg. "Courtroom lesson number two," he said. "Don't distract your lawyer while he's pleading your case." She laughed, climbing off his lap as he started the engine. The car pulled back onto the main road, a ribbon of moonlight leading them toward the beachfront hotel near the sea.

Della Street reached out and held his hand. "The Lear quote was actually the second note I wrote for you."

"What did the first one say?"

She opened her purse, and found a small, folded square. She handed it to him. He opened it, and just visible in the moonlight, were two words. His eyebrows jumped, then he smiled. "Good thing you didn't give me this one then," he said, tucking the note into his jacket pocket. "Or we would have never stuck around long enough to figure out who actually did it."


End file.
